


Bound by Blood and Mind

by CaityBrooklynnn



Series: The Walters Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU post-OotP, F/M, Family, Fluff, Legilimency (Harry Potter), Magic, Original Character - Freeform, Quidditch, Self-Harm, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 49
Words: 209,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24944056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaityBrooklynnn/pseuds/CaityBrooklynnn
Summary: Muggle-born Maeve Ellis doesn't think she can return to Hogwarts after her OWLs, despite her outstanding performance, due to an unavoidable responsibility to her younger sister, who's magic is too risky to leave her in the care of muggles. But, McGonagall isn't going to let that happen and bends the rules far enough to allow Maeve to complete her education whilst still caring for her sister.This is that journey. And, as the Golden Quartet is involved, drama and danger are bound to ensue.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Walters Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181249
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	1. Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter-by-chapter warnings present in the notes :)
> 
> Please leave your Kudos if you read something you like too <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Explicit Language

***

_July 30th_

_Dear Headmaster,_

_I regret to inform you that I will be unable to attend Hogwarts this year, as I have recently come to know of a younger sister whom I have to look after. I do not wish to end of my magical education before I can complete my NEWTs, however my familial duties have to come above my own priorities._

_My sister, Cassia Ellis, has already managed to make a show of her magic, so I wish to register her for the Hogwarts Alumni list - my muggle Aunt believes I am the best person to take care of her, and I have a duty to my family and my sister._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Maeve Ellis_

***

_August 18th_

_Miss Ellis,_

_The headmaster has informed me of your predicament this academic year, and I can't in good conscience allow the only other student of Miss Granger's calibre not to return, especially one of my own house._

_Accommodation adjustments have been made following your needs, and the professors and I have decided upon leniency for your rather unique situation. Enclosed are your subject reading requirements and all the necessary magical forms to allow your sister entrance and stay at the castle._

_I expect to see you first thing on August 31st; a portkey is being organised as I write, and it will bring your sister and yourself directly to the castle._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor McGonagall_

_***_

I almost scream with joy when McGonagall's letter arrives - but as I begin to logically think it all through, there is no way this year is going to be as seamless as the letter makes it appear. My eyes flit to Cassia, who's sleeping quietly on the sofa. 

The flat feels too quiet when she's not around, and I, over my five years at Hogwarts thus far, have gotten used to the room feeling like it breathes with the number of people who sleep around me. 

With McGonagall's letter still in hand, I throw a blanket over Cassia, and slump onto the floor, briefly debating the merit of changing my current NEWT options. I know McGonagall has declared leniency, but I can't imagine Snape granting much. 

Hermione crosses my mind, and I sigh. I've been ignoring her, Ron and Harry's letters all summer, in the mindset that I wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts, so it was better that we split off cleanly. Though it didn't end up being a clean split - I've had many worried letters and I've been itching to reply, so far so that I asked Ron's little owl to stay for a few days just in case I change my mind. Pigwigeon happily obliged, and I write out a swift reply, only once though, because I know they're all staying together. Pigwigeon happily supplied me with all the details I needed, in that excitable high-pitch hoot of his. 

Part of why McGonagall wants me there is for the Order, I'm guessing, and underage wizards not going back to school looks Godric-damned suspicious, all things - meaning Voldemort - considered. The other thing is my magic isn't normal; I like to speak to animals, all animals really, but magical animals are so much more coherent. 

***

_August 22nd_

_Hermione, Ron, Harry,_

_I'm sorry for my lack of communication all summer - I wasn't sure I'd be returning to Hogwarts in September, and now that I know I am, I realise what a prize idiot I've been by cutting you guys off._

_Don't be mad at Pig, but I know you're all together, and I promise everything will make sense once we get back to school - I've cleared everything with McGonagall and Dumbledore about my return. I hope we can get back to normal as soon as._

_I can't meet you on the train like normal, or down Diagon Alley, but I will be there for the start-of-term feast. There's no way I'll miss the sorting - it's like missing the welcome home party. Also, congratulations on all your OWLs! I know you didn't technically tell me, but Pig and Hedwig are excitable when they've got news._

_Congrats on quidditch captain Harry - I'm sure Gryffindor has nothing to worry about with you at its head, and I'm so glad you got the Ministry to revoke that insane flying ban._

_What are all your NEWT options? Hopefully, we have some classes together, but I'd wager that Hermione and I are taking a few more than the boys._

_Please write back, providing you aren't too pissed at me for blowing you off all summer, again, very sorry about that, but everything will be explained as soon as we get back. I promise._

_Yours,_

_Maeve xx_

***

Sending the letter off with the excitable owl, I moved around the flat, careful not to wake Cassia up, but given the lateness of August, I don't have much time before school is back. All my usual muggle preparations have been somewhat accelerated, and I phone my aunt to inform her, and she swears to come and check on the flat from time to time, to stop mail piling up, and stuff like that. 

Cassia stirs, and I make my way over to my six-year-old sister and wonder how this is even going to work. Cassia, since meeting me, has become very affection-dependent, and I run through the logistics of having a six-year-old in one of the three-hour NEWT classes. 

Not a good plan. 

Since I can't get to Diagon Alley, I send my book lists off, along with a request for a couple of things on magical childcare, and any useful spells or incantations to make her safe. I'm glad to be going back a day early because I have too many questions, none of which can be answered at the start-of-term feast. 

Oh Godric, mealtimes! Why is this so impractical? When I look back to Cassia, any regret or anger dissipates, and I pull her closer, letting her melt into my arms, stealing my warmth, as she always does. I just hope none of my friends are going to react badly - this is a pretty heavy secret, and also is going to affect us all in a huge way. 

Least of all if I land my arse in detention for skipping Potions because Cassia needs me. I wouldn't put it past Snape in the slightest. 

Eventually, Cassia stirs and is evidently hungry, and she gives me wide, expectant eyes, despite fully knowing how to talk aloud. She doesn't like to usually, much preferring mental conversations. 

_Food?_ She asks, and I sigh. 

_You know that means I have to move,_ I remind her, and she gives me a look mentally equivalent to an eye-roll. Her mental personality is much older than she is, having learnt the art of sarcasm, probably from me, let's be realistic. 

As I set about cooking - one of the last meals I'll cook for a year, I think wryly, - Cassia babbles about her school, and I almost stop dead, but continue somewhat shakily. I make a mental note to tell my Aunt to give her infant school some excuse about a transfer, and also make a note to buy Cassia everything she will need for a year of muggle education, that I'm going to have to teach her from Hogwarts. More joy to me. 

I don't even think about the bonus project I know is part of the sixth-year curriculum, and instead lose myself in the art of pasta-making, and allowing everything to pan out like I know it will. 

***

_August 24th_

_Maeve,_

_Sorry, we don't have more time for this letter, but Pig is being highly impatient at this point, and he clearly just wants you to get a reply. So here it is - of course, we're not mad, we're just worried, we didn't know what could've happened. We'll miss you on the train of course, but as long as we see you at the sorting - I definitely owe you a hug!_

_I'm taking basically everything but Divination and Astronomy, as expected, and Harry and Ron are just taking DADA, Charms, Potions (coercion from McGonagall to Snape, we're thinking), Transfiguration and Herbology, which I think is insane - why only take the bare minimum?_

_We've had serious words with Pig, but doubtless, he's already told you that much, right? I hope he's not told you too much of where we are, as it's kind of sensitive information to be freely given around; we wanted to tell you as soon as we saw you in person as we did with Harry._

_Did you see the Prophet recently? Harry almost got expelled for fighting off dementors in Little Whinging, but luckily Dumbledore had his back against the Wizengamot. We'll fill you in as soon as we can, we promise._

_See you back at school,_

_Hermione, Ron and Harry_

_xxx_

***

On August 31st, I'm packed and ready to go, Cassia's stuff all in a separate trunk, a smaller version of my schooltrunk. I've been reading the books Flourish and Blotts' sent me on childcare in the magical world, and though I haven't been able to try out any of the spells yet, they all look considerably useful. 

There's one about child-tracking, which is similar to The Trace, but I dismiss it quickly - with Cassia and my mental link, I always know where she is and if she's in distress. I can feel it, I can tell when she's having a nightmare, things like that. Hopefully, the range will be long enough to cover the castle - we've never exactly tested its range. Cassia may be mentally mature for her age, but she's still only six. I'm just working on the assumption my magic is strong enough. 

It should be - Cassia always brings out my stronger magic for her protection. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt appears at my door just before eleven, portkey in a magical bag. 

"I'll confess, I didn't expect the head of the M.L.E. to be escorting me to school," I manage to say, as he simply raised an eyebrow at my shock. 

"The headmaster made a special case for your protection to the Minister," Kingsley explained, his deep comforting voice filling the tiny apartment. Cassia dropped the remaining toys she was leaving behind, and launched herself at the visitor, her usual custom, and calm and collected Kingsley went out the window, perfect shock across his features. 

_Cassia!_ I admonished, and she disentangled herself from his robes, and I apologised quickly, which he waved off with a deep laugh. Cassia jumped into my arms, and I ruffled her hair. 

_Why can't I speak to him?_ Cassia asked, and I explained gently to her that he was an Auror, so probably had too many mental shields in place for a six-year-old to penetrate. Kingsley watched our silence with quiet contemplation, clearly realising something was going on that he couldn't hear. 

"We should be getting you to Hogwarts," he interrupted, his voice much gentler as Cassia burrowed her head into my robes. Putting these on this morning had felt amazing - like going back to school was finally real. As if the whole thing could've been a trick of my mind until this morning. 

My grip tightens on Cassia, and Kingsley magically attaches our trunks to the portkey, before taking my hand, sensing my nerves. His magical presence is reassuring and I keep a tight hold of Cassia as the portkey whisks us away to Hogwarts. 

***

McGonagall meets us on the edge of the Hogwarts wards, along with Professor Vector, who is one of my favourite teachers. A wave of magic flows over me as I step through the wards, and my wand in its sheath along my arm feels as though its full power was just returned. 

"Miss Ellis, we're glad to have you back," McGonagall greets me, and I vaguely hear her thank Kingsley for escorting me, whilst I'm simply marvelling at being home, finally. 

"Thank you for making it possible, Professor," I say as we make our way to the castle, Kingsley apparating on the other side of the wards. 

The empty castle is somewhat jarring, but the familiar winding corridors and moving staircases above make up for the lack of students. Professor Vector congratulates me on the OWL results I got, almost as good as Hermione's, she comments, which doesn't so much as sting, but reminds me that working for my grades is probably a good idea. 

I know it infuriates Hermione to no end that I get almost the same grades with half as much revision, but I guess it's just the perks of a near-photographic memory. 

We're winding away from the Gryffindor tower, as I expected to be honest, but McGonagall sweeps her way towards the dungeons. I wish I had the heart to object to, but with everything they're doing for me, I have no right to complain. 

"These are old head student rooms for Slytherin house - they never get used anymore, since the Slytherins like to be closer to the rest of their house, so the headmaster has made them available for your use," McGonagall says kindly, opening the portrait door with the password _sororis_ , which I make a mental note to change, because it's somewhat obvious (meaning sister, in Latin), into what can only be described as a mini version of the Gryffindor common room, and dorms. My trunk is dropped into the main bedroom, and I marvel at the room. 

There must have been adjustments from when any Slytherins stayed in here - I can't imagine any Slytherin seventh year would stand for the red and gold colour scheme, and the portraits of famous witches and wizards, a mixture of all the Hogwarts Houses.

"This is all for me?" I ask in disbelief and McGonagall smiles, nodding slightly. 

"We know the location isn't ideal for a Gryffindor, but-" I stop her, and reiterate my thanks, and place Cassia down on the sofa, where she instead rolls herself up in the golden throw, and I look at the image fondly, remembering when that was my favourite thing to do. 

At my request, McGonagall seats herself in the armchair, professing that she's game to answer any logistical questions I have about these arrangements. 

I establish that I have a free pass to leave classes should Cassia be in distress, and Cassia will be allowed out around the castle, providing she is with me, of course. I'd hardly let her out alone, but I understand McGonagall's concerns. Cassia's presence in class will be tolerated by almost all her professors - no points for guessing who wouldn't approve - and she will be borderline expected at mealtimes, though the feast tomorrow isn't mandatory for either of them, because there's a lot of pressure for all students at the feast, and it's all a bit hectic for a six-year-old. 

"The headmaster and I haven't yet discussed Hogsmede, but we will before the first weekend, should you wish to take your sister," McGonagall added, and I nodded, still not certain about that myself. I have such hopes that Cassia attends Hogwarts herself in the future, and I don't want to ruin the excitement I so clearly remember from my third year.

"Obviously we can't give you a free pass to everything," she told me and made a noise of agreement. "I can't interfere should you earn yourself detention, so my advice is just don't, and that's that issue solved." 

Cassia mentally interrupted, and I give her a sharp look before I see the slightly terrified look in her eyes. 

_Aw, baby, what's wrong?_ I coo, pulling her into my lap, and she snuggles into me, crying quietly. Today's been one hell of a day already, and I'll be the first to admit Portkeys don't feel right. 

I don't notice McGonagall stand, or walk across the room, but she stops in the doorway, turning back. 

"I see why you couldn't leave her, Maeve," she says softly, and I smile appreciatively, before turning my attention back to Cassia, where her tears are just about drying up. 

_Let's go and see your new bedroom, yeah?_ I encourage, and excitement builds in her, and she's tearing herself out of my arms in no time, yelling excitedly as she bounces on her bed, and I hear a creak of the portrait downstairs move, and I leave Cassia to her excitement, casting a silencing charm around the room. Refusing to block her out mentally as I make my way down the stairs, I cringe as I see a man in long black robes, a pale expression of fury adorning his features. 

"Professor Snape," I say courteously, if hesitantly, and his expression hardens further. 

"I was under the impression you weren't returning this year, Miss Ellis, and even if you are, you are a day early, and in the wrong room. I don't remember you being a member of my house, nor Prefect, much less Head Girl." His silky tone was one of danger, almost tempting me to argue, and I silently curse. 

"I was under the impression my early return, and its reasons, had been discussed with all my professors, Sir," I say cautiously, and his eyes flash dangerously. 

"You intend to take Potions this year, I assume?" Snape clarified, and I nod slowly, silently praying Cassia stays in her room. "McGonagall neglected to mention it to me, so you'd better explain this, else we're going to the Headmaster." 

As if right on cue, Cassia came tumbling down the steps, and I cast a quick Softening charm on the stone stairs, cushioning her fall to the floor. Snape blinked. Once, twice, three times. 

"You brought a child?" 

_Who is the mean man?"_

"Cassia is my younger sister, and I am her guardian. This has been cleared with the headmaster, and Cassia," I turn to her, making a point of talking aloud. "What have I said about running down the stairs? If we'd been at home, I wouldn't be able to help you from here," I admonish, and she pouts in apology, and continues the conversation mentally. 

_Sorry, Maevey, but who is this?_

"This is Professor Snape, the Potions master," I reply to her question aloud, not even thinking, and I instantly screw up my face in annoyance. "Cassia, when we're around people, you need to speak out loud, love, it makes people uncomfortable," I tell her gently, picking her up from her place on the floor. 

"She can MindSpeak?" Snape asked, his expression about as shocked as it gets. "She's too small to even control her normal magic."

 _Why is he so mean?_ Cassia asked, her tone filled with complaint, and I prayed she wouldn't start crying. I mentally calmed her, whilst keeping my focus on Snape. 

"Only with me," I answer shortly, feeling uncomfortable with Cassia in his presence. She clearly dislikes him, and I've got a gut feeling he's got some sort of hidden agenda. "Sir," I tack on the end, and his eyes glint dangerously. Off on the wrong foot already, and the year technically hasn't started yet. "May I request if you have any questions about my agreement with the headmaster you take it up with either him or Professor McGonagall, sir?" 

Snape doesn't dignify me with a response, instead, sweeping out of the room in his usual fashion, probably headed straight for the headmaster. 

I put him out of my mind once he's out of sight, and set about the room, organising all the safeguarding features I'd planned, and simultaneously keeping Cassia entertained. I transfigure the rug into a mini trampoline, and she's happily bouncing whilst I add layers of protection to the room: cushioning charms to all solid surfaces, warding around the firegrate so she can't get close to it, guards around all candles, handrails on the winding stairs up to our room, charming the bathroom to keep it safe for her. 

She has to be able to be in her whilst I'm in a class - for three hours. That's a long time for a six-year-old, and if I think about it too much then I'm never going to go to class in the first place. In hindsight, I should have chosen fewer classes - I'm taking Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, Defense, Charms, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes. I think Hermione is taking all that, plus Muggle Studies and History of Magic. She's going to have no frees on her timetable, but I don't think she minds especially. 

I enchant all Cassia's books to have moving pictures, a complicated spell that wears off after a few weeks, but the look on her face when _The Gruffalo_ is moving is worth the extra effort. 

I have a serious conversation with one of the portraits in the common room about helping out, and the witch introduces herself as Athena Bones, presumably related to Susan in my year. As it turns out, Athena has a very maternal side, and promises to help out whenever she can. 

_Hello, Maeve, nice to have you back._ I smile mentally at Fawkes, and he nods in recognition. _Shame Severus isn't of the same opinion - he tried to persuade Albus to let him throw you out of Potions._

_Bastard,_ I chuckle, and Fawkes crows out a laugh. 

_Only you could take that so lightly, Maeve,_ he replied, before fading out of my mind. It's good to know at least someone's happy to have me here. And, funnily enough, I value Fawkes' opinion much higher than Snape's. 

I persuade Cassia to take a bath, the multicoloured bubbles speeding up the persuasion process, and I mentally make a list of the wards I need to add to the door of these rooms for Cassia's protection. Conjuring all the bath toys she could ask for is amazing - she's going to be spoiled no-end after two years here. 

With Cassia in mini-robes at her request, we unpack out trunks, and I stow them away under the bed, glad for a proper bookshelf to store all my textbooks and everything I intend to borrow from the library. I check over the _Magical Guide to Childcare - Raising your Magical Child,_ and I create high-up shelves for my potions stuff, all completely out of her reach, and Cassia pouts at me, before diving onto her bed to retrieve her favourite teddy bear. It's actually a hippogriff, but Cassia loves it none-the-less which I reckon would make Hagrid proud. 

Warding the room is quite fun really, and I modify the room until I'm satisfied with my work. Cassia can't get out without tripping the ward and letting me know via a pulse on my enchanted ring, and the ring displays the name of anyone trying to enter the rooms, and I have to give express permission for any of them to enter. Obviously, Dumbledore and most of the other professors could override it, I think, anyway, but most of the students are going to have a hard time, especially with my integration of elements that only muggle-borns would be able to answer, such as James Bond trivia, which was mostly for my entertainment. 

The rest of the day is filled with a trip to the kitchens after Cassia asks for biscuits, where she's entirely enamoured by tickling the pear, and then the house-elves too, and then I take her outside, and we walk around the grounds, me eventually giving in to her mental pressure and giving her a piggyback to the castle. She squeals as I run down the stairs to the dungeons were our rooms are, and I come to an abrupt halt as I nearly run into Professor Snape. 

_Shit._

_That's a naughty word,_ Cassia tells me innocently, and evidently, my eyes physically widen as Snape's expression changes slightly. 

"Professor, I apologise," I start, but Snape holds up a hand, and I freeze. 

"Once term starts, I expect you to conduct yourself accordingly. Technically you're still on summer break. And since you are along _my_ corridor," he hisses and I flinch slightly. "You are not to disturb me, neither of you," his eyes narrow at Cassia, and she ducks her head behind mine. 

"Yes, sir. I trust you've spoken to Professor Dumbledore about the terms of my continued study here?" I ask, knowing full-well he had. Snape nodded curtly, clearly unhappy with the resolution of that conversation. 

"The headmaster was very specific - no point loss to Gryffindor for your attendance on your sister," Snape said, without his usual distaste. Maybe I'm delirious with the high of being back to Hogwarts, but he looked almost sympathetic? 

Definitely delirious. 

_Maevey, can we go back to the trampoline now?_

_Yeah, baby, of course._ I let Cassia down off my back and give her mental directions back to the room, tracking as she went, ensuring she went into the right room. The ward ring lit up with her name, and I turned my attention back to Snape, who's expression had softened a little. 

"Will that be everything, Professor?" I asked, but he shook his head. 

"Do not misuse this leniency I'm forced to give," he reminded me sternly, and I nodded in affirmation. "Else sister or no sister, you will spend the majority of the next two years in my classroom serving detention." 

Hunching over as if the wind has just been knocked out of me, full-blown panic streaks through me, and I don't wait to be dismissed, I simply sprint away, skidding into our room to find Cassia crying on the floor, lying flat on her back. 

_Cassia! Cassia, baby, what hurts?_

Scooping her gently into my arms, I mutter calming charms, stemming her tears with the corner of my robe, murmuring words of comfort. Internally I curse myself for forgetting the low table, and I charm it to be as soft as the rest of the room, rocking her slowly as I stand up, hoping all the excitement of today will have her to sleep through the rest of the night, despite that it's only seven pm, according to _Tempus._

Thankfully, Cassia falls right to sleep and doesn't stir as I convert her robes into pyjamas and use magical cleaning charms, before retiring her to her bed, cuddly hippogriff tucked under her arms. Conjuring a magical mobile, I set it spinning above her bed, the soft melody infused with calm, a spell Fawkes helped me create. 

Leaving the door to her room slightly ajar, I select a few of my books from the shelf and head into the common room, settling myself in front of the fire crackling happily in its warded grate, and reading through the first couple of weeks of Potions again - I've already made a bad impression, I should at least be able to answer his questions on the content itself. 

***


	2. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Family Death (Mentioned), Explicit Language, (Implicit) Sexual Relations

Detouring once again to the kitchens, I take Cassia to the greenhouses (only greenhouse one, though. Not quite ready for Cassia to meet the Fanged Geranium I hated so much last year) and Professor Sprout is happy to see the both of us, and eagerly shows Cassia the Bouncing Bulbs, which have her running around the greenhouse attempting to catch. 

"I'm glad your back this year, Maeve," Professor Sprouts tells me as we watch Cassia running about. 

_Careful, Cassia,_ I call out mentally as she nearly runs herself into a table. 

"I'm glad to be back too, Professor, but Cassia has to be my top priority this year; I'm the only living magical relative she has, and she's already shown that she's got some pretty strong magic building." Professor Sprout is one of the professors I feel like I can always talk with, even about potentially missing her class. 

"Please, whilst we're not in term-time, call me Pomona," she says kindly, flicking her wand so that the bulb stopped bouncing right at Cassia reached it. Cassia walked slowly and carefully with it in her hand, and stopped in front of us, a wide look of innocence adorning her expression. 

_Where should I put this, Maevey?_

Judging by Pomona's expression, she heard that too - her eyes widened in amazement and mouth dropped open slightly. 

_In the box with the rest of them Cassia,_ I instruct, pointing both mentally and physically, and Cassia deposits the bulb with the utmost care for a six-year-old. 

"That girl is going to be a very skilled Legilimens one day - I'd suggest asking Severus, but I'm sure with your background you know exactly what you're doing," Pomena complimented, and I smile, taking Cassia's hand. 

We leave Pomona to tend to her greenhouse, and presumably prepare for the influx of Hufflepuff students arriving later this evening. Cassia babbles mentally about how much she likes the short lady, and instead of going back inside, as the weather appears to be holding, I summon her trampoline and my Arithmancy book, and we sit by the lake, Cassia happily bouncing and me reading quietly. 

By the time I'm feeling hungry again (after summoning two hot chocolates for Cassia periodically), it's almost getting dark, the sun dipping behind the castle. With the train's imminent arrival, I transfigure the trampoline into a little one, bewitch it to be feather-light, and Cassia happily puts it in her pocket. 

A familiar blond crosses into my vision, and I try not to curse aloud. Why is he early, and why did he have to be walking across the grounds at the exact moment we were going back inside? Doubtless, he'll be heading for the dungeons too. Shit. 

Cassia continues her babbling and accidentally slips to physical laughter, which drags Malfoy's attention to us, and I shush her quietly but Malfoy's already walking towards us, the usual Slytherin smirk on his face as I step protectively in front of Cassia, hoping my robes will be enough to hide her. I hope he wouldn't even consider attacking her, but I'm not willing to take a chance better on the nicer side of Malfoy's character. 

"Where the rest of the Gryffindor golden students?" he smirked, clearly not seeing Cassia. I mentally will her to stay put, and she agrees, not quite telling me she disliked Malfoy's vibe immediately, as she did with Snape. 

"On the train, I assume, where the rest of the school is," I say lightly, heart pounding. 

"And what are you doing here, away from the rest of the school as you so duly noted?" 

"What's it to you?" I snap, and then cringe as he gestures to the prefect badge. Bollocks. Before I can say a thing, Cassia steps out from behind my robes, and Malfoy's jaw drops, the smart-arse remark dead in his mouth. 

_Why is he so mean, but has a nice aura?_ Cassia projects what she can see to me, and I can't help but see her point. It's almost like he's suffering. 

"Are you quite finished disrespecting your seniors, Ellis?" Malfoy snaps, and I pick Cassia up, sitting her on my hip. "I knew the rumours of you sleeping with half of Gryffindor, but I didn't realise there was evidence of it," he smirked, regaining his usual cool as the shock wore off. 

Refusing to rise to it, I instead smile sweetly. 

"She's my sister - she had nowhere else to go. We wouldn't want witches to grow up with muggles, now would we?" The surprise is evident on his face, and my eyes brighten slightly at the information I hold over him. "Aren't these the famous Malfoy family politics?" Malfoy cringed visibly, and it was an effort not to spill the whole story all at once. "Why don't you run home to Daddy dearest and tell him a Gryffindor, a muggle-born Gryffindor of all people agrees with him," I bit out, and Malfoy flinched at my tone. "So next time, Malfoy, make sure you listen to the right rumours, okay?" 

What little colour is usually in Malfoy's face had completely drained by the time I was finished, and I could feel magic leaking through my calm facade at my effort not to spill anything else. I quickly focussed, and pulled all the magic in before it could hurt anyone, and walked confidently back to the castle, noting how thestral carriages were pulling up to the gates. 

I hurry down to our rooms, promising to send Cassia food, when I see the magical platter in the common room already, and I huff out a laugh at the house-elves preparation for Cassia, and I reinforce the wards slightly, to ease my mind, and then as many anti-choking spells as I can recall, setting the music-player to start a gentle lullaby when Cassia has finished eating. 

Adding a final extra touch to the wards, I hurry off to the Great Hall, smiling widely as I see Harry, Neville, Ginny and Luna walking up the stairs. 

"Oh, thank God you're okay," Harry said, running across the hall and hugging me. I embrace him tightly, not caring for all the stares from the younger years. "I've been worried, Maeve!" he admonished as he let me go, and I give a small wave to Neville, Ginny and Luna, though I doubt Luna noticed as she was busy with Spectrespecs and staring at the ceiling. 

"I'm sorry, I will explain everything, I promise, but we should find seats first, yeah? Also, dementors? What the hell happened there?" I encourage, and we move away from standing in the doorway of the Great Hall, find Ginny and Neville had saved us enough space, with seats spare for Ron and Hermione too. I nod gratefully at them, and somehow there's already gossip spreading. 

"What did I miss?" I ask innocently enough, and Ginny explains how they, and the rest of the school, apparently, saw Malfoy, or someone looking suspiciously like Malfoy, standing out alone in the grounds by the Lake. I want to ask more, but Ron and Hermione reach the table, Hermione taking the seat beside me, pulling me into a hug. 

She gave me a 'you-have-some-serious-explaining-to-do' look as the doors burst open, revealing a gaggle of awe-struck first-years, lead by McGonagall, who was wearing her usual serious expression. Their expressions are the exact reason I knew I couldn't miss the feast - the wonders of what magic can actually do, revealed to them in it 

The sorting hat's song was filled with cheer, rejoicing in another year's education and new students, ending with a silent tone of warning, before the sorting truly began. We sat patiently through it, cheering when Gryffindor gained new students, and once the final student had sat down, Dumbledore stood. 

"Welcome all, I have little to say this year, other than our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, please welcome Auror - and now Professor - Tonks!" Cheering rises from almost all the tables, and Snape is wearing his usual scowling expression as the Auror's jaunty expression is matched by her changing the colour of her hair. Dumbledore is somewhat abrupt as he sits, waving a hand and the food magically appears, first-years gaping at the platters. Ron, as usual, piles food high onto his plate, and I notice that Harry doesn't, which I guess is hardly surprising. He hasn't spent all summer with the Dursleys barely eating, so I guess he doesn't need to overcompensate now. 

I watch as Malfoy swaggers in, via a side-entrance to his credit, and seats himself in the spare seat on the Slytherin table. There's not a trace visible naturally, but magically, he looks somewhat guilty and ... upset. That's new. 

"So how was Grimmauld place?" I ask quietly, my words lost to everyone other than those who I wanted to hear. Ron dropped his fork, surprise clear. 

"I thought that place was a secret," he muttered, and I roll my eyes. 

"Tell your owl to stop giving out secrets then," I laugh, and Hermione nudges me jestingly. 

"I'm sure you asked for them," she replies, and I can't deny that much. I momentarily connect with Cassia, checking she's okay, and she's close to falling asleep. I mentally cover her with a blanket and kiss her hair, before jolting back into my physical body at Harry's touch. 

I take in their expectant expressions, and I sigh. What did I miss? 

"I will explain everything after the feast, I swear - it's probably something worth just seeing," I tell them, and we fall back into easy conversations at my clear closing of the subject. Hermione talks extensively about being excited for NEWTs, and Ron and Harry delve into Quidditch talk about the upcoming season. 

Disappearing food marks the end of the feast, and Dumbledore announces the Fifth-Year Prefect's responsibility to show the first-years around, which Hermione and Ron sigh with relief at. As much as the wonder of first-years in the castle is great, shepherding them along moving staircases is a recipe for disaster. 

As we're standing, the three of them promise to come with me to finally talk about Cassia, and I catch Malfoy's eye. I don't know how long he's been looking at me, but when I meet his gaze, he doesn't look away. I'm first to break it as Hermione grabs my arm, and I shake off the feeling that Malfoy's acting weird, showing the three of them the way to my quarters. 

"Jesus, Maeve, these wards are intense," Hermione gasped as we crossed them, feeling the difference in magic at the moment we're in contact with them. 

_Cassia, baby, wake up darling,_ I say mentally, and Cassia blinks awake, chocolate all around her face. I stride over, picking her up and casting a quick wordless _Scourgify_ before turning to my friends. 

"Guys, this is Cassia, my little sister," I say, and with tiredness still at the front of her mind, she leans into my shoulder, and falls promptly back to sleep. I motion for them to sit down, as I take Cassia up the stairs and lie her in bed, and she instantly gravitates towards the hippogriff. I exhale deeply as I return to the room, quickly casting a charm to separate the noise from this room and hers. 

"You have a sister?" Ron asks hoarsely, and I nod. "And she's under your care?" he questions, and I nod again, collapsing into the remaining armchair. 

"You know my family was killed by Death Eaters," I start, and Harry stiffens in his seat. "Cassia had been with my aunt, who's non-magical and wasn't on the Death Eater's radar. Aunt contacted me once Cassia started showing magic, and she thought it would be better for her to be in my care," I explain, and I pause, not knowing how to continue. 

"I guess I thought it would be easier to have a clean break, but I didn't know how to tell you I was abandoning my education for my sister, but when I told McGonagall I wouldn't be coming back, she made all these-" I wave my hand around the room "- arrangements so I could do my NEWTs. I'm pretty sure the NEWT classes are getting a break in the middle so that I can check on Cassia." I smile faintly, waiting for someone to say something. 

"I can't believe they put you in the dungeons; aren't Snape's quarters near here?" Harry seemed overly offended by this, and I rolled my eyes. 

"Yeah, but him being a member of the Order and everything, I didn't think it would be an issue," I remark nonchalantly, and they all freeze, guilty expressions on their faces. 

"My stupid owl," Ron moaned, and I shook my head. 

"Hedwig?" Harry guessed, and I nodded. Hermione remained completely silent, and still, staring into the fire. "You know, it's slightly disconcerting the way you know all our secrets because our _animals_ told you before we did." 

I make a mental note to stop letting on that I'm doing that. Or just stop doing it. Either or. 

"'Mione, say something," I pleaded, unable to take her silence any longer. 

She stays silent for a while longer, and I feel the edge of my control waning as the temptation to talk mentally to her grows. 

"Why didn't you trust us?" Her voice is small, eyes still trained on the fire and all the anger leeches out of me. 

"It's not about trust, 'Mione, this is about my sister's life. Voldemort thinks he's purged my entire family out of existence, if there was even the slightest shadow of doubt in his mind, that puts Cassia in a hell of a lot of danger," I reason, and her eyes meet mine - finally - and I see her tears forming. I reach out to take her hand, and she accepts, and I squeeze it gently, reassuringly. 

"I trust you, I trust you all, but my life has drastically changed over the summer, and I can't pretend it didn't change me," I tell them, and Ron nods understandingly. A small sound of pain escapes my mouth, and concern races across all their expressions. 

"Cassia just fell out of bed," I tell them, shrugging as disbelief obscures their features, heading upstairs. I pick her up, casting invisible charms that act as barriers whilst she's sleeping to stop this from happening, and when I return downstairs, only Harry is left. 

He's pacing quietly across the floor, and doesn't notice as I walk in. 

"Harry, mate, what are you doing? You should've gone with Ron and 'Mione," His gaze snaps to mine, and I instantly know he's thinking of Sirius. The last of the Blacks - another family wiped out by Voldemort, even if indirectly. 

"You worried about nightmares?" I offer as an excuse, knowing he's not ready to talk about Sirius. He nods shyly, and I nod to my room. "You staying then?" 

He gratefully takes me up on the offer, and transfigures his robes into pyjamas, smiling as I raise an eyebrow at him. I change into my things behind the bathroom door, as Harry talks about the Order, happily enough. He's pissed that he's not been allowed to become a full member yet, though he claims it's not exactly fair because all of these plans inextricably concern him, Chosen One nonsense considered. Plus, their trusting of Snape sets Harry on edge. 

"Still don't trust the slimy bastard," Harry mutters as I return into the room. I think that's fair enough, but Dumbledore's word is good enough for me, at least for now. 

"No one said you have to," I remind him, and I lie back on the bed. "I'm going to teach you Legilimency this year, so you can block him out," I murmur, pulling Harry back so he's lying down next to me. He folds his glasses on the bedside table, and I run my hand through his messy hair. 

"Thanks, Maevey," Harry mutters, barely audibly as I adjust the wards so the calming sounds of Cassia's mobile float through, encouraging sleep. 

Contrary to how this looks, Harry and I aren't actually dating. We never did - though there was a one-night-stand situation in the Prefect's bathroom after the First Task, with that infernal screaming egg, that left us more intimate than most friends. And with his nightmares, I can always help, with only slight amounts of Legilimency required to soothe the nightmares. 

I fall asleep quickly, and the night is calm until I feel Cassia jump on my bed. 

Harry wakes with a start, and a guilty look crosses Cassia's face. She clearly didn't realise I wasn't the only one here, but now that's she's woken us both up, she's unapologetic as she comes and sits in the space between us. 

"Cassia," I moan quietly, wanting to pull a pillow over my head in the hopes for more sleep. She's looking curiously at Harry, who looks mildly uncomfortable as her eyes zero in on the scar. "Cass, baby, don't stare," I tell her quietly, and Harry tries, and fails, to flatten his hair. 

I shoot Harry an apologetic look, which he waves off, climbing out of bed. I point out the bathroom, and he sends me a grateful smile before disappearing through the door. 

_What happened? He has strange magic,_ Cassia informed me, and I nodded. Psychological connection to Voldemort and all would give a person a strange aura. 

_He's just Harry, one of my best friends,_ I explain, not sure how to explain anything else. _You're going to have to speak out loud to him, though. He doesn't like having people inside his head._

Best to prevent some sort of meltdown now, I reckon. 

"You realise it's like five-thirty in the morning," Harry announces as he walks back into the room. I nod, and Cassia beams. 

"Playtime," Cassia says firmly, and Harry grins. He allows himself to be lead away to Cassia's room, whilst I get ready, humming the mobile's song as I do. I hover in the doorway of Cassia's room, watching as Harry allows Cassia to climb into his lap, reading the enchanted muggle books. 

They both turn to see me at the same time, and I let the happy smile rest on my face. 

"Bathtime Cass," I say aloud, for Harry's benefit, and Cassia pouts, but agrees, clearly thinking of all the toys I conjured last time. "You should probably be going back to the Gryffindor Tower; get out of here before any Slytherins realise you were here," I prod Hary gently with Cassia in my arms. 

Harry looks mildly concerned, but at the prospect of being dragged into Cassia's bathtime, he quickly agrees, and I promise to see him at breakfast. Probably with Cassia, depending on what she's feeling. I get her all cleaned up, and sigh dramatically as she flicks bubbles at me, giggling. I remove them from my robes and dress Cassia in mini-robes, which appear to be her new favourite clothing, and we settled in the common room, Cassia playing with dolls and me reading a Magical Creatures text. 

A quick _Tempus_ tells me it's nearly 8 am, and I magically clear up Cassia's dolls, before coaxing her to the Great Hall with the lure of breakfast. Nerves build up the closer we get to the Hall, and relief floods through me when I see Harry, Ron and Hermione waiting by the entrance. 

"Thought you could use some moral support," Hermione informs me, and I gently unwind Cassia's fists from my robes. 

_These are my friends, remember? Nothing to be nervous about,_ I remind Cass, and she peers around my leg, wide eyes staring up at the three of them. 

Ron kneels down in front of Cass, telling her his name, and Cass looks back at me, and I nod in encouragement. That's all it takes for Cassia to fling her arms around Ron, clearly deciding he was a good friend. 

When she let Ron go, his ears were a little redder, but there was a grin on his face. 

"Hermione?" Cassia asked aloud, and a mixture of shock and pride crossed her face. Hermione nodded wordlessly, and Cassia beamed. 

"Let's head in then," Harry nods to the Hall, and a wave of shyness hits Cassia, who tried to hide in my robes, again. I pick her up, speaking gentle words of encouragement into her mind, and I fix my best 'fuck-with-me-on-pain-of-death' expression as the doors of the Great Hall open for us, and every single eye in the room is on us in an instant. 

We take our four Gryffindor places, and Cassia sits on my lap, instantly reaching for toast. Ginny concealed her surprise well, but some of the others - mostly boys, now I think about it - were slightly less tactful as they stared. I can practically hear what all their minds are screaming. 

"Oh, Godric, she's my sister!" I exclaim to my year-mates, and Seamus laughs, embarrassed. 

We settle in, Ron eating enough for the whole Quidditch team, and I coax Cassia to try the pumpkin juice, which she has declared is dangerous. That makes Harry laugh, as I'm pretty sure he had the exact same opinion in first-year. 

Nearing the end of breakfast, McGonagall hands out timetables, mine and Hermione's first, since we have the most NEWT classes. 

"Who chose Potions to be the first thing on a Monday morning? That's barbaric," Ron complained, and McGonagall silenced him with a single look. 

When McGonagall had moved on to the younger years, Harry sent me a warning glance as he noticed the Slytherin entourage approaching. 

_Cass, baby, stay quiet for a minute, yeah?_

She gives me a mental nod, and twist slightly in my seat to watch as Malfoy approached, followed by half the Slytherins in our year. My expression hardens as the offensive magic they're thinking of washes over me, and I take moments to consciously will myself to calm down. 

"Wow, Ellis, this is a new low, even for you," Parkinson remarked nastily as she stood at Malfoy's side, presumably filling the silence whilst he came up with his own catty remark. 

"And what low would that be, Parkinson?" I asked sweetly, voice dripping with alluring venom. She faltered slightly, and Malfoy took up the gap. 

"Resorting to using a child as your defence against us." I reigned in my magic, hoping it wouldn't spring free of its own accord, and Harry came coolly to my defence. 

"As I recall it, we've beaten you every year thus far without a child shield; what makes you think we need it now?" Silently glowering at us, the Slytherins stood menacingly, until the distinct footsteps of two professors approached. 

"What do we have here?" Professor Snape asked silkily, and Malfoy was quick to defend himself to Snape, though he wasn't entirely unfair as McGonagall joined in, balancing out the authority. She simply sent all the Gryffindors off to collect their books for their classes - Ancient Runes and Herbology today - and Snape was quick to dismiss his Slytherins too. 

Sighing, I realised I was heading in the same direction as all the Slytherins, and I entertained Cassia on the walk back with conjured flowers that flew away from her, and she laughed with delight as she finally caught one. 

At the turning where the Slytherins would split off, I feel a set of footsteps following me, and when I turn around, I see Malfoy, alone and looking slightly, dare I say, vulnerable. 

"Malfoy," I greet, not unkindly, but somewhat coldly. 

"Ellis, can I speak with you?" he asked gently enough; Cassia had stopped skipping, and tugged on my hand worriedly. 

I nodded shortly, motioning him to follow me and I sent Cassia ahead, the wards in the room detecting her before we rounded the last corner. Malfoy stayed silent for the duration of the short walk, and he stopped me before we could enter my rooms. 

"I'll keep the Slytherins away from Cassia." There was no doubt in his tone, and I glance up the corridor before giving him a disbelieving look. 

"Are you kidding? What was that scene just now?" I ask bluntly, refusing to accept Malfoy's statement. He looks challengingly at me as if daring me to refuse. I stare right back, my pride not allowing me to back down from this place I've put myself in. 

As I stare at him, I notice things I haven't before: the tiredness, forced demeanour, all usually masked by the Malfoy swagger.

"As much as this is bloody wonderful, I really don't want to be late to Runes," I say sarcastically, and he agrees, and I find myself questioning his perceptiveness he's always shown in previous years. "You take Runes?" I ask questioningly, surprised. I didn't think that was quite his style. And of course, Malfoys are all about style. 

"When I'm not being an arse, I'm actually quite smart. Not Granger-smart," he added, almost snarling slightly at that thought. 

"It's not a competition," I roll my eyes. "Anyway, I need my textbook, don't need to give Babbling a reason to put me in detention," I add, disappearing through the wards before Malfoy has a chance to say anything else. 

Grabbing my satchel, I set Cassia up with everything she'll need for the next three hours, optimistically including muggle schoolwork. In reality, she'll spend the time playing with dolls and making up life stories for them, which I'm sure I'll get the rundown on later. 

"Stay in here until I get back, okay, Cassia?" I make sure to tell her aloud, and she hugs me as she listens, already renaming all her dolls. Technically she can't leave anyway, but mentioning it to her is probably for the best. 

Hermione catches my nervousness all throughout Runes, and she makes sure to keep prodding me to keep my attention. The lecture on the importance of NEWTs could ave been done in about half the time, but the rest of the class could probably do with hearing it in its entirety. 

Malfoy's eyes are on me through most of the first half of the lesson, to the point where Hermione turns around during the break and glares pointedly at him. 

I take the moment to access the wards, and Cassia is playing happily, and I use the wards to nudge the schoolbooks towards her, and she ignores it easily, lost in her own little world. It's the reassurance I need to focus properly on the rest of the class. 

***


	3. Settling In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Explicit Language

***

By the looks of it, Harry and Ron are enjoying the free periods a little too much when they get to lunch. Sheer glee is written all in their auras as Cassia takes the time to point out to me, and I have to resist the temptation to laugh aloud.

She also points out Seamus' aura, which I take the time to mentally block in her - Day 2 back at school and Seamus has already found a rather illicit use for the room of requirement, that I really don't want to explain to Cassia. I take the time to point this out to Seamus, who goes bright red, and soon as everyone's attention.

Herbology is more of the same - lectures on the importance of NEWTs, and not falling behind now. We're given our first project on hybrid plants, which Neville starts on immediately, highly enthusiastic for his best subject.

All my classes for the first week are much of the same, and I make sure to spend all my time at the weekend with Cassia, to make up for the lack of contact during my classes. No one seems to mind Cassia tagging along out in the grounds or into the Gryffindor common room, though Hermione has decided she likes studying in my little common room better because it's not so packed.

It also gives us a chance to practice duelling, as Hermione forewarned us about the Order's plan to get Snape to teach us all a higher level of defensive (and offensive, probably) magic. We moved all the furniture out the way, and I modified the wards to keep Cassia upstairs whilst we worked, so she was in no danger of getting hit by a rogue spell.

When Hermione and Ron had prefect duties to attend to, Harry was quite happy to just sit in my common room and get some work done - neither of us even close to Hermione's capacity of productivity, just enough to get homework done for that week. Hermione was more likely to be working on homework for six weeks' time.

Though it wasn't long before Harry had to start Quidditch tryouts and practices, meaning between all my friend's responsibilities, I had a couple of evenings a week to myself, and Cassia, though she was usually asleep by eight.

Other than a couple of minor incidences with Cassia, there's been nothing to cause concern for her staying here, and at mealtimes, she's happier than ever surrounded by this many magical people. I've taken to putting up shields in her mind to block her from reading/talking to anyone but me - I'm not quite ready for that level of panic surrounding the power of a six-year-old.

***

After the first Defence lesson with Tonks, everyone couldn't stop gushing about how amazing it was to have a teacher that wasn't Umbridge. No detentions, barely any textbook work, simply practising what Tonks unofficially claimed to be "everything you should have done last year". With most of the class being in the DA, it wasn't too challenging, but I faltered on the Patronus, forming nothing more than wisps.

That was when I noticed Malfoy's eyes on me. Doubtless that he was going to tease me, I ignored him.

Despite my reservations about Malfoy's previous offer of helping with the Slytherin opposition to Cassia, he's been nothing but true to his word, and I haven't had a single comment from any of them about my being a slut, or receiving preferential treatment because I'm Gryffindor, or my taking over of the old rooms, but that might be coincidental. I've had no proof it's actually Malfoy doing anything.

Forgive my hesitance, but with the past five years of history where there's been nothing but bad blood between Malfoy and his friends, and all of us, I can't exactly bring myself to forgive him at the first sign of a change.

Probably overcompensating for my ego's sake, and slightly to prove to Malfoy I don't need protecting, I reinforced my shield as far as I could, and a barrage of spells from Hermione didn't so much as shatter it, earning me 10 house points from Tonks.

As the lesson drew to a close, Tonk laid out her lesson plans, and how it was going to work, which involved a running duelling tournament throughout the year - definitely something to look forward to. Harry was especially excited as the three of them split off to lunch, and I promised to meet them there, heading down to the dungeon to grab Cassia.

I feel him following me before I saw him, and I stopped dead, startling him slightly.

"Malfoy," I say, whirling around, and he's much closer than I anticipated.

"Ellis," he smirks. "Noticed you fucked up your Patronus in class, thought I'd offer my assistance." The cocky bastard. Though I'm not suspicious - I feel like I should be more suspicious.

"I'm sure Harry will help me without whatever I'm going to owe you for this," I say, half-heartedly. Draco's face flashes like I offended him, he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _Fucking Potter_ and I run a hand agitatedly through my hair.

Chatter echoes from the end of the corridor, and, seeing Malfoy clearly has more to say, I grab his arm and pull him down to my room, against my better judgement. Allowing him through the wards, I carefully watch for his reaction as we enter the common room. After only a brief expression of distaste at the colour palette, his eyes latch onto Cassia, who's colouring with magical crayons all over the walls.

"Cass, baby, I'm back," I announce, and she flings herself in my direction, enveloping me in a hug. "Why don't you go and put your colouring stuff upstairs, yeah? Then we can go to lunch, and you can give them your drawings," I encourage, and Cassia nods eagerly, racing upstairs.

"You have probably about two minutes - say what you're going to say," I tell the Slytherin as he hesitates.

"Maeve, I want to start over - this stupid feud has been going on for five years, and we're NEWTs students now, we should be able to get over this," Draco states in his usual bold Malfoy manner.

I take a step towards him, reading the vulnerability in his posture.

"An apology wouldn't go amiss, but sure," I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I've spent five years of being Harry Potter's mudblood best friend 2.0. Exactly what reason do I have to believe you?"

He looks away from me, eyes downcast in such an un-Malfoy-ish manner that I'm completely stumped for words. "I can't change the past, Ellis, and I can't change who my family are," Malfoy admits, and I feel this is as close to an apology as I'm going to get. "I'm sick of childish fights," he adds, and I stare at him.

"Who are you and what have you done with the Malfoy I know?" He flashes me a grin, an actual grin, not the typical smirk, and all I can read is sincerity in his emotions. I don't like using my power like this, on people who are entirely unaware, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him, and considering how out-of-character this behaviour is, I feel it's somewhat justified.

Throwing my arms up in frustration as I can't find a reason to distrust him, I finally acquiesce. "Here's how this is going to work, Malfoy. Two weeks to prove to me I can trust you, and that this is legit. After that, and only providing you keep this whole thing a secret, I'll talk to the others and see what we can do about ending this dumb fighting."

He takes my hand, kissing my knuckles in such a typical pureblood gesture, I momentarily freeze, wondering if I just made the biggest mistake of my scholastic career. Without another word, he smiles again, leaving the room. Cassia comes down the stairs the moment Malfoy leaves, and I'm still staring at the spot he was standing in, almost shell-shocked from the encounter.

"Come on, baby, let's get you some lunch," I say, and she takes my hand easily, picking up all the drawings for the Gryffindors, and all through lunch, I can't get a certain blond Slytherin out of my mind.

***

The next morning - my first Saturday back at Hogwarts this year - the apparition sign-up sheet is going around, which is a source of much excitement for all the sixth-years who made it out of bed for breakfast.

Ignoring the fee is easy enough as we sign the sheet, only Ron looking twice at it, hesitating before signing his name under ours, and Harry and I exchange a look. We can't offer to help him, he's only ever offended, and I've no desire to dampen the mood of all the sixth-years around us with an argument about money.

When Harry suggests a visit to Hagrid, I can't help but stiffen slightly, wondering how exactly Cassia will react, and Hermione catches the movement, giving me a reassuring smile.

 _You're going to meet another friend of ours soon,_ I tell Cassia as she eats her breakfast, giggling as I rearrange the fruit into faces. There's talk all around us of Quidditch try-outs, and Harry's considering holding pre-try-out practice sessions, both so he can gage talent in a bit more depth, and that people who don't necessarily want to be so competitive can have a chance to play.

Ron invites Hermione along in good - if slightly mocking - spirits, and she sends him a flat look, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. She offers to look after Cassia if I'm going, and I thank her appreciatively. Introducing Cassia to Quidditch is something I'd love to do, but maybe not in front of the whole of Gryffindor house.

At the end of breakfast, we head outside, our path directly to Hagrid's hut at the forest edge. The unsettling nature of the forest washes over me, and I can tell Cassia feels it too, at her refusal to go any closer.

Taking her in my arms, I tell her about the good things in the forest, the centaurs and the unicorns, and it distracts her enough to get us to Hagrid's front door, and he lets us in with a loud hello.

"This is tha sister then?" Hagrid asks as he puts the kettle over the fire. I nod, and Cassia waves shyly at the half-giant, reading the non-threatening demeanour I put up around him, because he's got a good heart, and though his sense is sometimes misguided with certain creatures (cough, cough, Aragog), he's not going to hurt Cassia intentionally.

Her reading into the wrong aura would be much worse than my slight fabrication of his personality.

Harry asks after Buckbeak, or technically Witherwings, and Hagrid is eager to talk about the Hippogriff, talking easily about how he's going to be helping out with Professor Kettleburn's classes with some of the older years, and the more "misunderstood" (read - dangerous) creatures, like the Hippogriffs and the Thestrals. Hagrid's almost offended as Harry, Ron and Hermione have to break it to him that they're not taking Care of Magical Creatures this year, but I dive into the conversation, promising to make up for their absence in classes, and asking him about the curriculum for the NEWTs students. 

"Are we going to be working in the Forest?" I ask, and I feel Cassia cringe into me. Oops. 

I sit her up straighter on my knee and bounce it slightly, and the Forest leaves her thoughts as she giggles in easy childish delight. Hagrid offers another round of teas, but Hermione declines, heading to the library, and I join her, knowing I've got enough homework to take me all weekend to complete. 

Harry and Ron stay, going around to see Buckbeak outside with Hagrid, and Cassia becomes visibly happier the greater the distance between her and the Forest. Okay, note to future self: Cassia hates the Forest. 

Hermione and I chat about Ancient Runes and Arithmancy on our way to the library, and we take a quick detour to the Gryffindor common room to grab her books, and Neville approaches us both, asking if we wanted to work on the Herbology essay together. Happy to expand our study group, we head to the library, throwing a few first-years out who were playing chess, and taking a large table in the corner of the library. Working with the two of them is easy, and I'm finally getting the hang of working with Cassia either sat on my lap or whilst watching her out the corner of my eye. 

"I can't believe you're living in the dungeons - it's so un-Gryffindor," Neville exclaimed as I broke it to him two hours or so into our study session, herbology essay finally finished. 

"Well, if it isn't Gryffindor's finest," Malfoy drawled from behind us, Neville giving an involuntary frightened squeak of surprise. "Where's Saint Potter?" 

I glare at him, a small part of myself feeling I deserved this for getting my hopes up. 

"Where's your muscle, Malfoy? Finally grown a pair and decided you can take us on your own?" I shot back, and his expression flickered. 

"I don't need Crabbe or Goyle to hex you for me," he responded, the malice in his voice ever-present. His features remain unfazed when I stand, wand in hand, and Neville grabs my arm, stopping me from doing anything stupid. 

At a stern telling-off from Pince, I return my wand to its sheath on my arm, and Hermione desperately tries to distract me with Arithmancy calculations, which I have to say was a very smart move. Arithmancy isn't something you can half pay attention to, especially if it's difficult. 

Malfoy hasn't gone very far, though, and I feel an undercurrent of anger at my believing he was different this year. We lasted, what, less than two days before we were insulting each other again. In all fairness, it's probably a record, but still not exactly impressive. 

Hermione and I manage to miss lunch completely, and I take Cassia to the kitchens for a late snack, and on her request of chocolate mousse, the house-elves oblige, busying themselves with Cassia's request with the utmost joy.

When I return to the library, Defence textbook in hand, Hermione's gone, and Malfoy is sitting at the table we had previously occupied. Before I can turn around and leave, he spots me and I begrudgingly take the seat beside him, watching as he throws up privacy charms around us. 

"What the hell was that, Malfoy?" I ask the second the charm is up. 

He almost looks hurt, and my indignation must show, as he quickly masks his face. "You said no one could find out; that means me acting like an arsehole towards any Gryffindors. It's common knowledge I take every opportunity to attack Potter's friends - it would be almost suspicious if I didn't," he explains, and I sink back into my chair. 

Tragically, he makes a good point. 

"Ellis, come on, I'm trying here," he pouted, and I resist the temptation to laugh. If he's trying, I should be too. 

"Maeve," I offer, and he looks at me a little weirdly. "I don't go around addressing friends by their surnames - that's weird pureblood shit." I test him with the comment about purebloods, and he doesn't blanch at it, instead, letting out a laugh. 

"Draco," he says, sticking out his hand, and I have a flashback to first year, when this was him and Harry, outside the Great Hall, in the same situation. He seems to remember it too, and I take his hand, assuring that this truce truly is a truce, and I'm not going to stab him in the back. That's way too Slytherin for me, anyway. And this situation is very different from the one in first year. If Harry had just taken Draco's hand back then, where would we be now?

I add a Notice-Me-Not charm to Draco's _muffliato_ charm, and we work together on the Charms essay we were set, and I can't help but love this essay title. _Compare and contrast the similarities and differences between the magical capabilities of first-year students from magical and non-magical families._ Most essays aren't so political for Charms, but I feel I have a unique perspective on the matter, and I managed to write well over the required length of parchment, Draco almost gaping at the four-foot-seven-inches of well-reasoned arguments. 

"Should keep Flitwick happy," I joked, rolling it up and storing it in my satchel. 

Cassia climbs into my lap, and I cast a quick spell to repair the damage she's done to my Care of Magical Creatures textbook with her crayons. Not that I particularly mine bright pink hippogriffs, but Kettleburn might if he ever sees. 

"What did you think of Tonks?" Draco asks as he opens his Defence book. 

"Definitely knows what she's on about; might have some Moody-esqué tricks up her sleeve," I comment, reminding myself mentally that Draco wouldn't know Moody was technically Crouch Jr. As much as our cooperation is great, and we've made it a full three hours without a real insult, I'm still very much guarding my tongue. 

It's a little early to be giving out secrets. 

"Yeah, not sure about this duelling tournament; kind of think Potter's probably got it in the bag, having duelled the Dark Lord, and all that shit." I roll my eyes at Draco's tone. 

"If Harry wins, it'll be on talent, not preferential treatment," I say sternly, and Draco grins slightly. We skirt around the topic of Patronuses, knowing it could be a sore spot for me, and I find myself explaining potions to Cassia, who's flipping through my book, excitedly pointing at some of the pictures. She's enamoured by Felix Felices, the gold-flecked potion hardly done justice by the pages of the textbook. 

Draco gives me a quizzical look. "She understands all this?" 

"Not like understands properly, but can get the gist of things when I explain them," I say proudly, and Cassia gives me a look as I ruffle her hair. 

"She's going to be top of her class for years to come," Draco laughs, and I can't help but think the same. Cassia bursts out in laughter at one of the pages, and I look down in slight horror to see the Contraceptive potion open on the table, with a somewhat explicit drawing on the page. 

I snap the book shut, and Draco laughs as Cassia asks in a clear voice what those two people were doing so close together without clothes on. Our charms must have failed, or Pince just spotted them and took them down herself, and threw us both out of the library. The only other students in the library ignored us - mostly the younger years doing homework, though there weren't many there in the first place, the first weekend and all. Having to keep an eye out for others in our year is a definite mood-dampener, but for now, at least, it's a necessary task. 

I steered Draco back towards my room, Cassia happily skipping along the corridors. Silence lapsed between us when we were out and about, but once back in my room, conversation flowed easily, despite our both avoiding of certain topics sure to cause rows. I made tea part-way through a conversation on OWLs, and Draco lightly mocked me about being overly formal, which I reckoned was a bit rich coming from him. 

I mean, the Malfoy name is practically synonymous with Slytherin Royalty. 

"What do you think about becoming Animagi?" I asked, and Draco's face scrunched up in disgust. 

"Cool concept, ridiculously convoluted process," he replied, and I shrug, kind of agreeing. Holding a mandrake leaf in the mouth for an entire month is somewhat insane. 

I mean, logistically, how does that even work? You still need to eat, drink, speak (presumably) - it's just not practical. I know Hermione spent ages last year researching the process, and did all she could to work out why the process was so peculiar, but even she drew a blank on its complexity. 

"And if you did, what animal do you reckon you'd be?" I ask, and Draco instantly looks away, and I clamp my mouth shut to prevent myself from laughing. He notices my expression, and a warning look comes over his features. 

"Maeve, I swear if you ever ... " he trails off as I try to compose myself, failing entirely. 

"Oh come on, Draco, it was funny, and by all accounts, you kind of deserved it for those badges," I say, hoping I haven't just done irrevocable damage to this afternoon's good spirits. 

His lips twitch upwards, and I bite my lip keeping in a burst of laughter. Ferret-Draco was one of the highlights of the Triwizard Tournament, for sure. Maybe not for him, but it always makes Harry laugh if it's brought up, reminding him that even though that year was undeniably shitty, there were rays of light shining through, however unexpected they were at the time. 

"Okay, okay, yes, I was kind of a prat to Potter about the Triwizard Tournament, but it was a little suspect, the Chosen One getting to bend all the rules of an ancient tournament," Draco justifies, and I sigh, giving in. If Ron thought so and came around, maybe Draco can too. 

_Maevey, I'm hungry,_ Cassia complained, and I cast a quick _tempus_ , seeing it was almost dinner. 

Draco stood up, smiling, and almost every thought flew out of my head at his carefree expression. It was so unlike any other Malfoy expression, softer, and less forced. It strikes me that I'd like to see that expression on his face, a lot more. Taking my hand, he kisses my hand, and I give him a look. 

"Is everything you do hyper-Pureblood?" I joke, and an unreadable expression crosses his face before he realises I'm kidding. "You should go first, just check that there's no one in the hall," I instruct, and he flashes me a grin. 

"See you later, Maeve." 

Cassia gives me a look as I fall back onto the sofa, and I pull her close, endeavouring to listen to everything she had to say about her newest story with her toys. 

***

There was a debate on the Gryffindor table one morning about the DA, wondering if it was still necessary considering Tonks was such a good teacher - Neville and Ginny both argued in its favour, and Harry readily agreed that it would be good to have some sort of out-of-lesson practice that wouldn't get us all in trouble, and with Minerva's permission, we set it up as a formal club for fourth years and up.

Briefly, I considered if it was worth going, but knowing it would be much more difficult to explain why I wasn't there, I attended the first meeting with everyone else, surprised (much like most of the other members from last year) how many Slytherins were present. There weren't any sixth or seventh year Slytherins, but a group had formed in the corner of the room of fourth and fifth year Slytherins, and Harry, whilst getting the meeting started properly, made sure to include them all.

Perhaps practising stunning each other wasn't the greatest first session, but overall the different Houses mixed well, and with only one small inter-House altercation between a couple of fourth-years, Harry deemed it a success, calling out that he hoped to see everyone again next week. We had some of the older years practising the _Ennervate_ charm too, which was a bonus I don't think we exactly planned for.

"Maeve, you've been very quiet," Harry said as he approached me when the meeting closed and everyone was leaving, Ron and Hermione too, making sure there was no trouble in the corridors. 

"And you look exhausted." I didn't mean to sound so blunt, but Harry blanched slightly, and I instantly shook my head. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." He offered a careful smile, and I made the effort to return it, readily accepting as he reached out to hug me.

"What's up, Maevey?" Harry asked into my hair, and I feel myself dangerously close to tears.

When I pull away from him, the worried look intensifies on his face, and I feel the scrutinising green eyes on me as I turn away. I resist the urge to pace up and down the room and instead take to running my hand through my hair, pulling on the knots violently. Harry catches my hand before I can do any lasting damage, his confidence wavering. He's not used to seeing me like this, nor, on the few occasions it's happened, has he been alone to comfort me. 

"How do you do it? Deal with everyone knowing you're clearly much more powerful than them?" He blinked at my question, unexpected as it was, and I shake my head. "Forget it."

When I try and leave, he encircles my wrists, just tight enough to stop me from getting away. "Maeve, I don't. I keep talents hidden, I don't let most of them know how much power I have, but because of all the Chosen One shite, I don't necessarily get a choice in the matter," he reasons, honesty pouring into his words.

"The only way I don't go crazy is letting it out sometimes - the Room of Requirement is amazing for keeping talents hidden and containing their aftermath," Harry continued, gesturing to the room around them. "Show me," he added, as I looked uncertainly around the room. My eyes snap back to his, and there's no trace of jesting.

"Promise you won't run out on me?" I ask quietly, and he looks at me like I said something absurd. He nods, and I look around the room, for something to show him. The fire in the grate has long gone out - I think Seamus had something to do with that one - and as I focus, a roaring fire leaps into the grate, radiating heat at full force.

Harry jumps, startled, and then looks at me, scanning my person.

"Wandless?" he asks, and I nod my confirmation, pointing at my wand that's sitting on the table, maybe three feet away. "Wow, Maeve, that's high-level stuff, like insanely so," he praises, and I blush, turning away.

"It's stronger magic if it's actually on my person, but I don't need to actually be holding it or anything for most things," I admit, and I stop myself before I can say anything else. I may have unloaded this secret, but I don't need to say everything that's running through my mind.

I humour Harry as he conducts a little experiment, moving me further and further away from my wand and getting me to cast a load of different spells, and I manage it until I'm in the opposite corner of the room to my wand, and I still just about manage to levitate the table, though it's unsteady and takes a lot of concentration. That had to be at a good twenty feet from my wand, though, so I'm not disappointed.

I eventually decided I should be going back to see Cassia, and Harry joins me happily, making sure to return my wand before we closed out of the Room of Requirement. It's later than I thought it was, and Cassia's fallen asleep on the sofa, and I scoop her up in my arms, telling Harry to get comfortable, whilst I just put her to bed.

 _I love you, sleep well, Cass,_ I tell her softly, closing her door, finding Harry kneeling in front of the fire.

I watch as his whole body shivers, and I'm beside him in an instant, wrapping my arms around him. Despite the wards, I shuffle us slightly back from the fire, and Harry releases a choking laugh, somewhere between pain and amusement.

"I'm going to do something kind of rude, but I promise it'll help, okay?" I ask and he nods, gritting his teeth through the pain. Closing my eyes, I take myself into his mind, careful to disturb his mind as little as possible, I put all the power I dare into a temporary block between him and Voldemort, reinforcing it as much as I can without risking too much, and I pull myself out, and Harry's expression is clear of pain.

"Call it a temporary divider," I answer his unasked question, and his expression morphs into a grin. "And I'll teach you to do it yourself soon, but right now, it's too late and I'm too tired," I tell him honestly, and he hugs me tightly, gratitude seeping out of his movements. With this block in place, he's not going to be able to hide his emotions from me, but anything to protect his mind has got to be a positive, right?

Right?

***


	4. Competition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Explicit Language, light fluff

***

As it turns out, Draco is wholeheartedly a morning person, it wasn't simply a fluke seeing him early on Sunday morning out in the grounds. Since Cassia likes to wake me up before the sun rises most mornings, we've found that the best time to see each other is in the small hours whilst the rest of the castle is still asleep.

Begrudgingly, I've started letting Draco teach me about Patronuses, and it's oddly intimate as he's quizzing me on my happiest memories. Despite his help, nothing is working, and I'm losing patience with the whole thing. Draco isn't though, and he's been a great teacher, much more patient than I've ever seen him.

That doesn't stop my temper fraying though.

"This clearly isn't working!" I shout after a particularly trying morning of attempting my Patronus. I mentally apologise for startling Cassia, who's watching me with wide eyes.

"Did you just throw your wand across the room?" Draco asked, eyebrows raised judgementally. Fuck. This is an entirely humiliating situation in the first place, and then I have to go and act like a small child in a tantrum.

I collapse, defeatedly onto the sofa, and say: "I was hoping you wouldn't notice that." He cracks a smile, and I can't help but return it. Draco sits next to me and takes one of my shaking hands in his. I lean my head on his shoulder, letting the steady rising and falling of Draco's breathing calm me, and I can feel his hand gently playing with my hair.

I hate not getting a spell, and considering this one is based on the strength of a happy memory, it's even more humiliating. 

Cassia climbs into my lap and her closeness helps, stress evaporating on the contact. I expect him to come up with some snide remark and get me to try again, but he's still, relaxed, putting absolutely no pressure on me to try the spell again. 

"Oh, Godric!" I say, sitting bolt-upright. I've startled them both, and I don't even think as I wordlessly (and wandlessly, technically) summon my wand, the memory right in the front of my mind. Cassia shifts off me, and onto Draco, which he doesn't immediately object to, so I guess that's a positive, and I stand, breathing carefully as I keep the memory as focussed as I can, and blank my mind of everything else.

" _Expecto Patronum,_ " I murmur, pouring all my energy into the happiness of the memory, and a fully-fledged cheetah Patronus bursts from the tip of my wand, sprinting gracefully around the room before dissolving into a cloud of silver. At the sight of it, Cassia buried her head in Draco's chest, but when I shared with her the memory, she perked up, seeing the light by which it was formed, and promptly jumped up, chasing the wisps around the room, giggling.

"That's amazing!" Draco congratulated, standing up.

"Thank you, couldn't have done it without your help," I reply, stepping closer, pulling him into a hug. He freezes for a moment - it crosses my mind later that _traditional_ pureblood families don't hug - but melts into the gesture, wrapping his arms around me.

I let go before he does, keeping me encircled in his arms. I level my gaze to meet his eyes, and I can't quite figure out what his expression means. Biting my lip slightly, I stand up on tip-toes, pressing my lips to his. Draco responds with equal tenderness, and my mind can't catch up as feelings explode between us.

Breaking off abruptly, panic floods Draco's eyes.

"It's not you, I promise but ... she's six," I say by way of explanation, and Draco blushes slightly. A grin spreads over my face as I see how much I've ruffled Draco's collected demeanour, and I resist the urge to point it out. I can't imagine he'd thank me for that.

Casting a _Tempus_ , I see it's almost breakfast and Draco falls into our normal routine of keeping these meetings a secret, and he's almost out the door, before I grab his hand, kissing his cheek.

"I'll see you in potions, okay?" I whisper into his ear, and he smiles softly before leaving, watching as his Malfoy persona came back in full force.

When I turn back around, Cassia is stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed and angry-faced, and I have to stop before I laugh aloud. _You can't tell anyone about this, Cassia. I will tell them all once I know what this is._

After bribery with sweets from _Honeydukes_ , Cassia agreed to keep quiet, we make our way to breakfast, and it crosses my mind that I don't know if I'm going to be going to Hogsmede yet.

Well, that's what secret passages are for, I guess.

***

At this point, I (and everyone else) have given up persuading Cassia that pumpkin juice is a legitimate drink, and I've given in to her apple juice addiction instead. Ginny made a valiant attempt at disguising the colour, but Cassia point-blank refused. 

It's rather endearing, and everyone around us likes to make a fuss of Cassia at mealtimes

"'Mione, what can you possibly be revising this early in the year?" Ron asks, between bites. Harry and Ginny are talking about the Quidditch Team try-outs that happened this weekend, and I eat quietly, staying out of the way as I wait for Hermione and Ron's argument to start.

"We have extra projects to be working on this year, and in case you haven't noticed, I'm taking nine NEWTs, so I need all the time I can get," Hermione snapped, and her tone caught Harry's attention.

"Merlin, woman, okay, sorry I asked," Ron huffed, and Hermione's eyes flash dangerously, a feminist rant ready to happen when Cassia tugs of Hermione's robes. Looking down to see one of Cassia's drawing, of her and her books, she grins, anger at Ron melting. Ron sighs in relief, sending me a thank-you look.

Harry and Ginny go back to Quidditch talk (plans for this evening's "casual" pre-try-outs) with current disaster averted, and across the tables, I catch Draco's eye. Concern flashes and I, almost imperceptibly, shake my head, and he goes back to the Slytherin conversation.

_Thank you, Cassia,_ I make sure to say, and she smiles at me in recognition. I swear, sometimes I forget she's six.

When Hermione and I stand to go, I smirk as I see Harry whack Ron up the back of the head for his bluntness, and Hermione and I giggle at the scene. When I ask her again, she assures me that she'd be happy to look after Cassia during the Quidditch session tonight, most likely with Neville in the Gryffindor common room. 

Potions passes fairly uneventfully for once, Snape in a seemingly mild mood by his standards, and spending all lesson behind his desk, practically ignoring the class once the instructions had written themselves on the board. Working with Harry is still a mildly painful experience, but over the years, and despite his hatred for Snape dampening any attempts at trying at the subject, he has improved and is less likely to cause some sort of explosion. 

I like to think it helps that I'm here too, quietly repairing any missteps he takes before Snape can pounce on them. He's not going to become Britain's second Potions Master, but he might just scrap a decent NEWT in the subject. 

***

With Hermione in a class all afternoon, and Harry and Ron out playing Quidditch, because apparently having the whole evening isn't good enough, I asked Draco if he'd come and see me this afternoon, quietly in the student storeroom of the potions classroom. He readily agreed, leaving the room with a loud comment about my incompetence, which I guess is to be expected. Still stings a bit though.

I set Cassia's muggle gymnastics stuff up in the common room, and when Draco arrives, I drag him upstairs straight away, the door clicking closed behind us.

"A little forward, aren't you?" Draco smirked, and I resisted the urge to slap him.

"Wouldn't want to make you blush again," I fire back, and he grins slightly, stepping closer to me.

"I never asked - what was the memory you used to get your Patronus?"

"Cassia," I say simply, and Draco nods in recognition. He's hesitating, and I close the space between us, sealing our lips. There's much more emotion between us than there was before, and Draco's urgency for contact is plain to feel, his hands pulling my body close into his, and I let mine find a natural position in Draco's hair.

This feels ... right. There's no better way to describe it - it's what I want, I know it is.

We split apart, breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together.

"Damn, Maeve," he whispers, and I smile.

I unwind my fingers from his hair, and attempt to step back, but Draco keeps my place. "I wouldn't want to be too forward," I murmur to him, teasingly and Draco scowls at me. "You have to let go of me at some point, Draco," I remind him but he shakes his head.

"And when Harry comes looking for me, or Ron, or Hermione?" I tease, and Draco growls possessively, locking our lips again.

"Mine." As the kiss progresses, I increasingly feel something foreign, unwelcome, and I pull back violently as I realise what it is. I regard Draco with suspicion, and he does little to resist as I unwind myself from his arms.

"Are you using me to get even with Harry?" I can't help my blunt tone, and Draco's eyes immediately turn cold, slipping back into his Malfoy persona. Or maybe the Draco bit is a persona? This is moving so quickly I can't tell what's real.

Okay, so that wasn't my smartest move. He says nothing, eyes blazing in rage, a well-founded rage that _I've_ caused. Avoiding confrontation was never Draco's style, but as I watch him storm out of the room, I let down the wards to let him out without a word, not risking this argument to happen in the range of Cassia's delicate ears. 

Well, shit. This truce lasted, what, a week this time? And then I go and ruin it. Fuck. 

***

Heading out onto the pitch later that night with friends was such a relief. No Draco, practically no responsibility for Cassia, though she could still talk to me whenever she needed. Hermione was amazing enough to take her off my hands, and I head out with a large group of Gryffindors to the pitch. 

Another plus to being in a group this big is that there's no way Draco would dare to approach, in any manner other than to piss off Harry as much as possible. Hopefully, he'd be smarter than that. 

"Okay, so Gryffindors, split up into your positions you want to play," Harry called loudly over the rabble of excited chatter. This is a pretty unprecedented move, that, to my knowledge, no one else has done, at least not to this extent. 

"Maeve, light the pitch, will you?" Ginny asked with a smirk, and a grin graced my lips as I enchanted each tower to become a beacon of glowing light, just as long as there was someone on the pitch. It's more technical to say I put up glowing wards, but intense ward magic isn't something we're taught, at all really. 

Better to think it's a charm. 

The younger years marvel at the trick, but all the fifth years and above roll their eyes at my obvious showing off, quite used to me using this for late-night practices during the winter months. Heading over to join the beaters, I high-five Seamus, who I've enjoyed practice sessions with a "borrowed" bludger over the years. 

Harry sends us off in our groups, selecting a leader for each group, and Andrew Kirke, despite being younger than both Seamus and I, was an excellent beater, and we all took to the air, flying around and smacking bludgers around, each beater having taken a bat from the store. 

Seamus and I worked efficiently together as it devolved into a sort-of competition, until there was only Seamus and I, against Kirke and Jack Sloper, as many of the younger years had landed after a particularly brutal shot almost hit its mark on Seamus, only to be spotted at my shout. Catching that Harry was watching us from a distance, I sent Seamus a knowing look, which he easily reciprocated, and as the bludger, sent by Sloper, sped towards us, I crouched closer to my broom, barrel-rolling out of its path as Seamus came up behind me, knocking the bludger out of the pitch, for it to whirl around the outside and approach Kirke in a deadly manner, ready to crash into his spine as the boy was entirely unaware of its location, and I whipped out my wand, freezing the bludger in mid-air wordlessly. 

Kirke's face paled as he realised where the bludger was, and Sloper flew over to his friend, taking his side as they headed to the ground. Seamus and I let out twin whoops of joy and Harry flew over, his face a picture of shock. 

"Where did this talent come from? I had no idea you two had worked on this," Harry exclaimed as soon as he was within hearing range, and I resist the urge to smirk at him. 

On the other side of the pitch, cheering erupted as Ron saved yet another goal from one of the chasers, Katie I think, and a pack of seekers all dived together, catching Harry's attention. 

"I want to see you both at tryouts," Harry yelled back at us, and he dived, his firebolt easily catching all the seekers, clearly the best broom on the pitch. Not that I'd ever really splash out on one. I got my Nimbus in my third year, a birthday gift on my request from my aunt, and it's perfect for what I need it for. 

Seamus and I looked at each other, identical grins on our faces. Rejoining the beaters on the ground, I check on Kirke, and he assures me he's fine, and he doesn't hold anything against me. 

Sloper makes a comment about seeing us at tryouts, a competitive smile on his face, and we're joined by the chasers and the keepers, all watching as the seekers follow Harry to the ground. 

"I think we could fit a couple of matches in before it gets too late," Ginny was saying as they landed, and everyone looked between each other excitedly. 

"Okay, Gin, let's make some teams," Harry says, striding over with broom shouldered authoritatively. 

Seamus and I end up teamed with Ginny, Lily Moon and Kian Ford as chasers, a slight third-year whose name I don't know as the seeker, and McLaggen as the keeper. Many of the younger students aren't placed in a team and take the opportunity to take to the stands, watching the first Gryffindor v Gryffindor match of their lives. 

Harry sets us up in the typical positions for a regular match and naming himself referee, I scan the opposing team. Wrestling the balls back into the crate a bunch of second-years brought out for us was entertaining to see but I don't let myself watch it too closely as Ginny murmurs to us about tactics and we all instantly fall in, taking this match as seriously as if it were any other

Ron's their keeper, and Katie Bell one of the chasers, along with Dean Thomas and the others I vaguely recognise from the common room. Sloper and Kirke are their beaters and we eye each other with streaks of competitivity. 

When Harry calls for our attention to start the match, quite a crowd has built in the stands, a mixture of houses taking an interest in this friendly match, and since it's neither an official team nor is using any new Gryffindor tactics, no one objects to the audience. 

Harry summons a whistle, and since there are no captains, there's no formalities to be held up, and the match is away as soon as the balls leave the crate. 

McLaggen takes his position in front of the hoops as Ginny gets the Quaffle, and I smack one of the bludgers towards Ron's retreating back as he heads for his end of the pitch. Sloper just about gets there in time to whack it back towards our seeker, but the bludger changes its course, looping around the field, sliding out of sight around the fast-moving players. 

No points are being counted, other than by the second-years in the stands, and I watch as their seeker dives, feinting spotting the golden flash of wings, but our seeker - Oliver Wood's younger brother I think he might be - didn't fall for it, instead, flitting around the pitch, keeping high to avoid the thick of the action. 

"Maeve, Chasers!" Seamus yells across the pitch at me, and I urge my broom faster towards Ginny, Moon and Ford, who have Quaffle possession and I knock Bell off-path towards them with a sharp change of direction of the bludger, enabling Ginny to take the shot, faking slightly and throwing her brother off-course, scoring the first goal of the match. 

A cheer goes up from the crowd, and I don't let myself get distracted by it, flying across the pitch to protect the seeker as Seamus headed off the bludger going directly for McLaggen. The seventh-year keeper seemed slightly peeved by his not noticing of the bludger before Seamus hit it, and even in the middle of the match, I hoped that Harry wouldn't pick McLaggen for the team. 

Our chasers did a remarkable job of keeping the Quaffle in our possession, though in the end, the opposing seeker caught the snitch and Harry called the match, sending all the beaters into the air to reclaim the bludgers. 

Loosing whoops of joy, Seamus and I flew one of the bludgers to the ground, spiralling together, working seamlessly together and leaving McLaggen to wrestle it back under the chains of the box. 

When we land, Seamus hugs me, and I wink over his shoulder at Ginny, who's raised her brows at me. 

"We trying out, then, Ellis?" Seamus asks, laughing as we cross the pitch to the gaggle of Gryffindor students, who Harry's attempting to gain the attention of. I give him a confident nod, the back of my mind wandering to Cassia, and what I'm going to do about this. 

"Gryffindors, well played this evening!" Harry shouts, finally gaining everyone's silence. "Actual try-outs for the team are this Saturday, just after lunch, and I hope to see many of you there. Now, hit the showers before I have Filch on my arse about mud in the corridors!"He adds jestingly, earning a cry of laughter from us all. 

I join Harry, Ron and Ginny as they hang back, and Seamus and Dean disappear off together to the showers, along with the rest of the teams that just played the match. 

All eyes are on me as I approach, and I can't help the grin that appears on my face. Maybe it's just the adrenaline, but I forgot how much I love this. 

"So, when were you going to mention how much time you put into training as a beater?" Ron accused, and I shrugged evasively. 

"And with Seamus of all people - thought he was more of a chaser myself, but there's no doubting what we just saw, " Harry added, looking like he was already planning a team in his mind. 

"You still have to make try-outs a fair chance - I know Kirke and Sloper are a pretty good pair," I reminded Harry, and he nodded, somewhat seriously. Ginny was giving me a strange look like she was working out a riddle. I quirk a brow at her, and she stares me down. 

"You didn't try out for beater last year," she said outright, and I broke away. "You know how much Fred and George would have loved to see you play like that?" she adds, and I smile, somewhat tightly. 

Harry's figured it out before I can say a thing. "You didn't try out because of my flying ban, did you?" A swift jerk of my head confirms it, and Harry slaps me. I make an indignant noise, and we make our way to the changing rooms, the lights on the pitch dimming as we exited it. 

Showering in a changing room is an experience I will never get used to, the magical dividers ensuring a lack of exposure, but there's no magic to block out the sounds coming from the main locker room. Ginny has a similar expression on her face as we enter the showers, neither of us doing the awkward thing and trying to start a conversation as we washed away the sweat from a match. 

Cleaning charms applied to my robes, and Ginny's, who's still in the shower, I redress, finding the locker room mostly empty, and most likely a party headed for the common room with no qualms in staying up past curfew.

With the idea in mind to get Cassia out of there before it became too rowdy, I shouted a goodbye to Ginny and hurried into the castle, stopping dead in the hallway as I saw Draco skulking behind a column. 

"Draco?" I ask tentatively, and he steps out at my voice, his eyes hard. 

"I want to talk about this afternoon," he said stiffly. I nodded. Promising to meet him in the dungeons, I headed up to the Gryffindor Tower to collect Cassia, who Hermione, bless her, had put to sleep in Hermione's own bed, assuring me it had been no trouble, and adding that when I made the team, she'd be happy to look after her any time. 

I make a face at how fast the news travelled to even the most Quidditch-ignorant ears and taking a sleeping Cassia in my arms, sighing at all the stairs left to descend to react my quarters. Thankfully, the only teacher I run into is McGonagall, who lets me off for being out past curfew easily as soon as she spots my sister in my arms. 

Avoiding Snape was trickier as his quarters are so much closer to mine, but I just about evade him, and Draco, true to his word, is waiting by the portrait, and I let him in. Without a word, I leave him in the common room and put Cassia in her own bed, smiling as I set the mobile singing gentle lullabies. 

Draco's confidently standing, leaning against the edge of the stone fireplace, a careless expression on his face.

"You're a good beater," he remarks, and I tense. He must have seen some of the game we played - I hadn't noticed him, but then again, I hadn't been looking for a covert Slytherin. 

"Thanks," I reply, hesitant to broach the subject we both know we want to talk about. Maybe not _want_ to talk about, more like _need_ to. 

Silence stretches between us, and I let him take his time as he figures out what to say. I shrug out of my outer robes, draping it down the back of an armchair with more focus than is required, anything to keep my eyes from drawing to the stony-faced man across the room from me. 

"Is there a reason for that accusation?" he fires out of nowhere, and I lean back against the wall. "Other than the reason I already suspect," he adds, as I look for that exact excuse, the one I know he's thinking of too. He's not going to like this, I'm fully aware, but honestly, I don't know how else to explain it away. 

"When I'm ... close to people," I start, already struggling for words. "I get better reads on their emotions, and to an extent what they're thinking." Draco's eyes narrow.

"Impossible, I have shields up." His tone is clipped and disbelieving, and I sigh. He's never going to believe me unless he sees it for himself. And I don't exactly feel like freaking him out completely. As I silently deliberate on the right words, he casts his glance around the room, and eyes narrow as he spots a photograph on my desk. _Shit shit shit shit shi-_

The photo slams face-down onto the table of its own accord, and Draco jumps slightly. 

"Are they your parents?" His voice has an unexpected softness to it, and I meet his eyes for the first time this evening. I nod, ignoring the well of sadness that fills up at the thought of them.

"It's not about mental shields, it's more of a magical aura, I can just see it without trying, and when I'm close like that, I can feel it through them," I explain, and I know I'm getting through to him as he drops into one of the armchairs. 

"I only questioned you because there was so much anger there, and I wasn't expecting it." I've taken his hand, as I sit on the arm of the chair, which he didn't instantly drop, hopefully a good sign.

Draco struggles for words, and I feel bad that I've put him on the spot.

"You don't have to explain; I've no right to ask questions about things I shouldn't even see," I assure him, and Draco's eyes sharpen.

"So you can just make some assumption later?" His tone is filled with accusation and I focus on not flying off the handle at him.

"I told you I didn't mean to, and I should've told you before that there was a risk of this happening. I've made that mistake already, I'm not assuming anything. I'm sorry, Draco," I say, sincerely. He surprised me by pulling me closer, kissing me gently.

"You're unbearably Gryffindor sometimes, you know that, right?" I give him a sweet smile, and Draco pulls me into his lap. I lean my head on his shoulder and hugs me close. He's pausing, hesitant to say what he wants to say next. "I was only angry at Potter that he's been close to you for all these years, and I'm only just getting my chance now."

I made an affectionate noise, kissing his cheek, and Draco smiled. I doubt bringing up that he's had multiple chances to behave less like a prat with all our classes over the years would help.

"You caught me off-guard, I didn't mean to insinuate you'd just dub me that bad guy without anything more," he conceded, and I take that as an apology because I'm not sure he's quite at the point to entirely renounce all his Malfoy values.

I kiss him again, this time on the lips, and it crosses my mind that I've just made a great blackmail system should I need it. Draco pulls me in closer, giving himself better access to my face and I let him make the first move, now that he knows about just the kind of access he's giving me, and it must really not bother him as we soon find ourselves breathing just as heavily as we were before, and this time in the slightly more compromising position of me straddling Draco.

I can't help the smile that sticks to my face as all I read from him was desire, and I think Draco knows it too.

"As much as I'd love to do this all evening," I assure him, "that match absolutely drained me." And with Cassia, Godric knows I'm not getting a lie-in any time soon.

Draco groans his protest, and pulls me back when I attempt to stand, and judging by the expression on his face, he's given himself some unwanted (or technically wanted, I guess) friction where he's most sensitive. Embarrassment darts across his face when I smirk at him and kiss him again, ensuring to move my hips around under the pretence of getting comfortable.

"Oh, Merlin, Maeve," Draco muttered, and I could feel the arousal radiating off him. "We go much further and I'm not gonna be able to stop," he tells me, openly admitting it as though it was a weakness, and I gracefully climb off him.

He comes perilously close to whining, and I lean over and peck him quickly.

"Despite what rumours might say, I don't sleep with anyone this quickly," I say, returning the same honesty he offered me earlier. "That's not to say I don't want to," I add, hoping not to bruise his ego too badly. But he just offers me a smile, showing he took no offence at the words, and I pull him up from the chair, kissing him again. 

"Won't the Slytherins notice if you're not back tonight?" I ask as Draco seems content to follow me upstairs, and he just shrugs. 

"I'm sure they can draw their own conclusions, but that doesn't mean I owe them any explanations," he replies, and I smirk at how Slytherin he sounds. Which I guess is fitting but still. 

I point across the corridor to the bathroom, and say with a wicked grin: "Might want to deal with your _little problem_ before you come to bed." Draco shoots me a glare and heads in anyway, and I laugh my way into my room. 

Oh this is going to be fun. 

***


	5. Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Explicit Language, Sexual References, Grief,

***

The next morning at breakfast, all anyone can talk about is the Gryffindor quidditch match last night, and more specifically with some of the upper years, mine and Seamus' display of talent. Maybe it was a mistake to reveal it that suddenly, but Seamus is loving the attention it's brought him, and Harry isn't going to have a problem with being accused of favouritism for his choice in beaters, if Seamus and I get it, purely on the basis that the whole school now knows we work well together. 

I immediately squash the references to Fred and George, saying we might even rank at their height, and Seamus, sitting next to me at breakfast for maximum Quidditch talk, agrees that we're no as in sync at the twins were. 

Hermione is nowhere to be seen at breakfast, but I suspect she's just avoiding the Quidditch talk, famously her least favourite topic of conversation. 

"We're going to need to practice something new to blow them out of the waters at try-outs," Seamus whispers to me as I stand to leave with Dean, both of us the only Gryffindors talking Magical Creatures as a NEWT subject. There's a scattering of other houses too, but it's by far my smallest class. 

Dean and I head out to the Forest edge, meeting the rest of the class on the way over. It's a nice class - no one would be crazy enough to take it if they truly didn't want to be here - and there's a definite lack of inter-house rivalry present. After a brief introduction, the professor gives a rough explanation of the theory of today's lesson, all of us rolling our eyes at his blasé attitude to potentially dangerous creatures. 

Hagrid dwarfs Kettleburns figure as we find ourselves heading into the Forest for the first time this year: an introduction lesson with the Hippogriffs, very similar to the one we had in our third year that went completely tits up thanks to Draco. It's about a five-minute walk from where the class started, and there's murmured words about that lesson, and by all accounts, apprehension hangs over the class. 

Judging by Hagrid's nervousness, he was thinking of that lesson too as we jumped over the wall separating them from the rest of the Forest. Singling out Buckbeak is an easy task, and Dean and I head over to him, bowing deeply to show our intent. 

_Sirius' young friend. I remember you._ Buckbeak's voice was higher than I remembered, still authoritative in its tone, and by no means fooling anyone that he could be considered non-threatening. 

Not that anyone else talks to the Hippogriffs. 

Despite that Buckbeak didn't bow, I get up, tossing him a dead ferret with ease, and Dean looks at me, amazed at my confidence as I walk over to him. 

_It's good to see you again, Buckbeak,_ I tell him, stroking my hand along his feathers. A quick glance around shows me I'm the first one in the class to get this close to a Hippogriff, and I beckon Dean over, keeping my internal voice soft to keep Buckbeak's temperament happy. 

Buckbeak nods his head slightly as Dean approaches, and he visibly relaxes at the movement, hand hovering in hesitation at Buckbeak's other wing. 

"Go on, he won't hurt you," I assure Dean, and he shoots me a sceptical look but touches Buckbeak's feathers regardless, and I remind myself of the task Hagrid set us. 

_How old are you, Buckbeak?_ I ask the hippogriff, and he stands up straighter in a sudden movement, that brings Kettleburn's attention directly to us in concern. 

Pretending to do the checks the textbook suggests for guessing the age of a hippogriff, I continue with a mental conversation with Buckbeak, occasionally remembering to include an awestruck Dean in the conversation as Buckbeak let me lift his wing, looking for any signs of creasing underneath those soft feathers. 

"He's probably about 6 years old, judging by the wings and muscular structure," I tell Kettleburn, who glances at Hagrid, checking for his approval. Hagrid nods, a grin on his face. 

_You're liking this a little too much, girlie,_ Buckbeak snorted, ruffling his wings back into their usual position. 

_She does this a lot,_ Fawkes chimed in, and I mentally rolled my eyes at him. Of course he'd be listening in. I turn to Dean, who's scribbling notes with a floating quill for the essay that's bound to be set later, and I sigh, taking my hands away from the hippogriff to do the same. 

Behind us, there's a shout of fear, and practically the whole class freezes as Hagrid puts himself between an angered Hippogriff and Hannah Abbott, who's deathly pale, but doesn't appear to be injured. Careful not to run, I grab Hannah's arm and pull her away from the animals, practically pushing her to sit down on the low stone wall and catch her breath. I sit next to her, arm carefully around her back in case she loses consciousness, partly watching Hagrid soothe the angry creature. 

"Hey, you're okay, it's fine, you're not hurt," I remind her soothingly, and she grabs my hand as I stand up, shooting me a thankful look, and I return with an easy smile. When she stands up, admittedly she's still a little pale, and Kettleburn calls for the end of the class, despite it being less than half-way into the lesson, reminding us about the essay on hippogriffs. 

He leads us out of the Forest, and I'm careful to stay with Hannah, and until I can find someone for her to sit with, I don't want to leave her alone. Dean accompanies me to try and find some sixth-year Hufflepuffs, and we find a couple of them in the library, and explain what happened. Justin thanks us appreciatively, and Dean gives me an impressed look as we leave the library. 

"You are full of hidden talents this week, aren't you?" he jokes as we head up to the Gryffindor common room. I can't help but grin. 

"Come off it, Seamus must've told you we were practising together," I reply, and Dean shook his head. 

"Knew he was hidin' something, all those early mornings. I just assumed he was shagging someone in the room of requirement," Dean laughed, and I turned red. Dean turned to me when I took too long to reply, and his grin widened. I pulled my wand on him, somewhat jokingly, and despite his massive grin, he held his hands up in surrender. 

"My lips are sealed," he swore, and I just rolled my eyes. 

Avoiding the changing staircases was a task and a half, and by the time we reached the common room, we had an hour left until lunch. Walking in felt like walking home, and Cassia sprinted across the room to me as soon as she saw me, jumping up from her spot in front of the fire next to Harry, who seemed to be doing some sort of homework. 

Hermione had cornered herself at a desk, books and papers strewn everywhere around her. Ron had a stony expression as he practised something for transfiguration, and Harry silently begged me not to ask. 

"You're out of class early," he said instead, and Dean flopped into one of the vacant armchairs. 

"Bloody hippogriffs," was Dean's only explanation, and I briefly continued, explaining how Hannah had somehow annoyed one of them, and Kettleburn cut the lesson short. When Seamus came down the stairs from the dormitories, he joined the group by the fire, and I pulled my legs into my chest, wrapping my arms around myself. 

I'm not sure about the Quidditch thing. Everything's such a responsibility, and though doubt Seamus has his own talent, as a solitary beater, everyone knows you've got less of a chance against a pair, and Kirke and Sloper will be trying out together without a doubt. 

I watch Cassia colouring on the carpet, and I send a quick spell to her, enchanting her dolls to dance in front of her, earning giggles, and garnering everyone's attention too. 

"So, tryouts," Harry started, a sly grin on his face. "Seamus I knew you were sneaking out of the dorms, but damn, I didn't realise it was for Quidditch. When did all this start?" 

"Oh, Godric, ages ago," I started, another flick of my wand conjuring glimmering bubbles, which Cassia loves. Especially to chase. "I didn't have my Nimbus in the beginning, I think." Seamus nodded in agreement. 

"Probably the start of third year...?" Seamus says, questioningly, and I agree. "There was no one going to dethrone the Weasley twins as beaters, but I never thought we'd get this good." 

"Modest," Dean laughs, and I send him a warning look as I guess what he's about to say. His grin turned into a smirk, and Seamus looked at his best friend in confusion. They share a knowing look and Seamus struggles to keep in a bark of laughter. 

Harry pouted in indignation, and Ron finally seemed to guess what it was, pulling a face at the mental image. 

"Harry, mate, anyone told you you're a little dense sometimes?" Ron's tone was kind enough, and comically he looked between the four of us, and then his eyes slid between the two of us. Watching the cogs turning in his brain as he connects the lines is almost painfully slow, but the four of us stay silent until he figures it out himself. 

"You two shagged?!" 

"Only once," I protested at his tone, and Seamus eyed me. Resting my head on my knees I continue, "Or maybe three times, but still!" 

They all laughed as my face filled with colour, and Cassia bounded over to me. "What does shagged mean?" she asked, plaintively. Roaring laughter erupted around us, and I rolled my eyes at their immaturity. Cassia stared at me expectantly, and I shook my head, pulling her into my lap. 

Before long, the bell rang for lunch, and we headed out the common room, Hermione not moving from her seat. If Cassia hadn't been dragging me down, I would have stayed, but Cassia has to be my priority. I'll check on Hermione during Transfiguration. 

At lunch, Seamus makes a massive show of us, like he wants to start the rumour we're dating just for the hell of it. I don't object, probably against my better judgement, and we loudly talk about Quidditch, heated debates forming over who the other houses might get on their team as new additions. 

Mealtimes are much more lively with Seamus and Dean, and when Dean makes an offhand comment about West Ham football player, all the pureblood-raised wizards throw him a confused look. Harry and Dean share a knowing glance as they burst out laughing when Ron proclaims loudly about the stupidity of the muggle version of Quidditch. 

I have to silently agree with Ron on this one - muggle football isn't all that entertaining, at least not to me. And Cassia's way too impatient to watch a match on the TV. 

Any attempts throughout the whole meal to catch Draco's eyes are made in vain, but from across the room, it's difficult to tell if he's avoiding me, or if he's just absorbed in Slytherin conversation. 

When he gets up to leave, alone, I make my excuses too, promising to meet them in Transfiguration and not be late, hurrying out the hall with Cassia. McGonagall gives me a free pass for being late only so many times a month, as she's informed me, and I'm not willing to push that, even a little. 

"Draco, wait," I call once we've made it downstairs to the dungeons. Cassia runs off ahead, eager for something in our quarters, though I'm not exactly sure what. 

I read the hesitation in his posture as his step falters, and I curse. 

"What you saw at lunch, that's Seamus taking the piss; he's just like that," I assure him, grabbing Draco's hand. 

"I don't like having to watch you and Finnegan from across the hall, pretending not to be bothered by it," Draco admitted, and I smirked. 

"Jealous, babe?" He raises an eyebrow. "Not babe?" I wince slightly, a cheeky grin plastered to my face. Reaching up, not caring that we're in the middle of a hallway in the dungeons, I murmur, "Sorry," into his lips, and we kiss with little resistance, and despite the empty corridor, it's nice to not be sneaking around with this. 

Draco pulls back, and nervous eyes scan the corridor. I pull my arms back, tugging on the sleeves of my jumper. 

"I'll see you in transfiguration then, okay?" I peck him on the cheek, before disappearing into my quarters, Cassia giggling on the floor as one of the portraits talked to her. Swiftly hugging her, I grab my textbook, groaning at the time and hoping I wouldn't be late for class. 

***

The rest of the week is filled with early-morning practices, which we have effectively banned everyone else from watching, and I took the time to cast a few temporary wards around the side of the pitch we were working on. Just to keep prying eyes out. Anyone caught spying would have their hair turn pink, and unable to explain why. 

To the source of our amusement, there were a group of first and second years on the Gryffindor table that morning, pink hair and all. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he whispered something to McGonagall, and her lips twitched. 

Seamus and I have tried a lot of new tactics and moves, testing how many things each of us could keep track of at once using enchanted stone, since we can't exactly steal a bludger without someone noticing. Before, the covert operation was much easier. 

And now, I've forfeited my time this week that I would usually spend with Draco in order to train with Seamus. He appeared wholeheartedly understanding, and I guess Quidditch is something we have in common, though I could never be a seeker. And Draco's too ... lithe to be a beater. Not that he couldn't do it, but seekers take all the glory, and there's something to be said about Draco and being the centre of the praise. 

On Friday morning, I stop dead in the corridor on our way to breakfast, seeing a pink-haired Harry coming our way. 

"Maeve, you're a genius," Seamus cackled, and I feel this is definitely a memory for the Pensieve. 

"How long can we get away with this for?" I asked him, hoisting Cassia into my arms as Harry stormed over. 

"If I'm in the Prophet like this, Maeve Ellis, you are going to regret it," Harry warned me, and a gaggle of third-year Huffepuffs came past, not-so-subtly laughing at the situation in front of them. 

"Oh, Harry, what happened?" I can't resist pushing him a little further, watching and laughing as he gets tongue-tied and can't explain it. Seamus bursts out laughing, and Ron, from the other end of the corridor, did the same, calling all the more attention to us. 

"Damnit, Maeve," Harry muttered, a smile tugging at his lips as his Gryffindor heart saw the funny side. 

I took his arm and we headed into the hall, a united front of sixth-year Gryffindors falling into place behind us, and the huge doors of the hall swung open. Rolling my eyes at how dramatic this was, we all strode in, Harry receiving a few cat-calls from various directions as we take our seats. 

Daring a glance at the High Table, all the professors present are in varying degrees of smiling - even Snape, Godric forbid, is smirking slightly. Harry looks like he's considering drowning himself in porridge, and Cassia taps my arm. 

Smiling at her suggestion, I subtly slip out my wand and mutter the incantation, and before long both mine and Cassia's hairs are changing colour until we match the exact share of bubblegum pink Harry's hair is. Soon, a couple of the other Gryffindors have the same idea, and Seamus, Dean, Hermione, Ron and Ginny all morph their hair colours. A sneaky glance at the high tables shows me Tonks has done the same thing. 

I suppress a smirk at the high table and at Snape's fury. Gryffindor solidarity at its best. 

***

"Harry, you will find out what we've been working on tomorrow, until then, just drop it," I tell him, for probably the fourth time as we make our way to the Defence classroom. Tonks greets us with her pink hair, robes open to reveal a Weird Sisters band t-shirt, and I smirk. McGonagall might have a fit, but then again, there's no telling Tonks what she can and can't do. 

"Now, what I want to work on this lesson is something I think most of you have been taught before, by Professor Moody. I was his student as an Auror, and his favourite phrase was Constant Vigilance!" She barked the last words in a perfect imitation of Moody, and a few members of the class jumped. 

Pleased her little trick had worked she informed us that around the room, there was a magical object for all of us, and we had to find out which one was ours using whatever means necessary, and tell her what the enchantments were on the object. 

After she Vanished the desks and we all ditched our textbooks (which, thankfully we never seem to use - I think everyone had enough of textbook work from Umbridge's horrific classes) in a corner

"Sometimes, in a defensive situation, you're looking for a specific object or person, but one can never be too careful," she called out cheerfully as Ron was thrown on his arse for trying _accio._ Predictable. 

Scanning the room, magical signatures stood out to me, seventeen objects lighting up with varying degrees of unusual magic surrounding them. Feeling drawn to an empty inkpot on a window ledge, I walked over to it, careful to sense the range of its magic, and trying desperately to recall what I've found the different colours to indicate. 

A glance around the rest of the room told me some of the others had found their objects too, and I clamped my mouth shut on a laugh as I watch Nott get flung across the room but trying to take the wrong object. 

"Oh, didn't I tell you? There are some decoys too - can't make it too easy!" Tonks called gleefully, and I rolled my eyes at the witch, who's a fully-qualified auror, and is taking way too much joy out of confusing sixth-year students. 

Warily eyeing the inkpot, I take in its magical aura again, checking that it does indeed look like my object, and, making sure to both use my wand and cast using words, I use every version of _revelio_ I can come up with, eyes shooting around the room as a metal cane, clearly cursed using _gemino_ starts replicating frantically, and, Pavati shrieks slightly, letting it clatter loudly to the ground. Tonks looks on, amused, and I call her over, confident in my answer. 

"The inkpot, and if I touch it, it will set on fire, and if I levitate it, it will refill with ink," I say confidently, and Tonks grins as I continue, "And, if anyone else were to touch it, they would burst into song, some variation of the _cantis_ charm," I guess, and Tonks nods. 

"Okay, class, we have our first object identified," she calls over the noise, and spells cease. The pink-haired Gryffindors grin at me, as I levitate the inkpot and it bubbles up with dark ink. Hermione is next to get hers, a book that refuses to be placed on a shelf, and Draco isn't far behind, with a cupboard who's door doesn't open, no matter what spell you use to unlock it. 

"Once you've identified your objects, join this line and we're going to get some duelling practice in, nothing to do with the tournament, don't worry," she adds, clearing more space at the front of the room as people pick up the pace, Harry, Ron and Hannah Abbott identified their objects. 

"Jinxes and hexes only, I want to see no curses," Tonks warned as Draco and Hermione squared up, the first pair. 

Draco was smirking as he easily shielded Hermione's first attack - entirely wordlessly. Tonks looked on, impressed as Draco fired back, Hermione managing to block the jinx, but a fraction of a second slower than Draco did. Neither of them really had the upper hand, and neither wanted to back down, until Tonks intervened, calling the duel a draw. 

Hermione seemed somewhat disappointed as Harry and Ron took to the space in the room, Ron looking somewhat apprehensive, and Harry mouthing something. It makes Ron grin slightly, and I congratulate Hermione as we watch the boys, at a much lesser intensity, throw spells at each other, and only when Hary sent two in quick succession did they both find their mark, and Ron burst into uncontrollable laughter and lost his footing underneath him. 

"Nice Jelly-Legs, Mr Potter, five points to Gryffindor," Tonks complimented, and wordlessly performed the counterspells. Harry grinned as Ron shook his head mockingly at him, and I, with Hannah, took our places at the front of the room. 

Determined not to show off any tricks I don't wish to, I hone my focus on Hannah and she, slightly nervously (she was a member of the DA, and does know I'm pretty decent at this), cast the first spell, and I easily deflected it, reminding myself to use the incantations aloud. 

" _Colloshoo._ " I smirk as Hannah's feet stick to the floor, and she shifted uncomfortably, whilst still shoots spells at me, and defending those I send at her. 

Across the room, there's a flash of green light and I freeze, along with a couple of others in the room, most of whom were in the Department of Mysteries last summer. Before I can regain my focus, I'm hit with an _everte statum,_ throwing me back across the room. Hannah's eyes widen in concern as I hit the wall, but Tonks, quick to react as ever, cast a Cushioning Charm. 

Hannah is at my side the second Tonks unsticks her feet, and sticks out a hand, helping me to my feet. 

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realise you'd lost focus," Hannah apologised earnestly, and I shook it off, congratulating her on the win. Scanning the room, Tonk is giving Nott a severe telling-off, fifty house-points lost for endangering students and a weeks' worth of detention for intentional sabotage and Harry is nowhere to be seen. 

Draco watches me from a distance with worried eyes, and I, with a lot of effort, send him a confident smile. Hermione and Ron whisper together as I come over, the confident smile cracking as I think of Harry. 

"He's got the map, I don't know where he would've gone." Hermione was almost in tears, and Ron pulled her in for a gentle hug, a rare moment of affection between them. With Tonks' permission, the three of us leave, Ron heading outside, Hermione to check secret passages and hidey-holes in the castle, and I head up the stairs to the seventh floor, the Room of Requirement my goal. 

Sweet-talking the room of my oh-so-noble Gryffindor causes, I get the door to appear, and head inside, sighing with relief. 

Harry's knelt in the middle of the floor, a shard of Sirius' mirror in his hand, the map laid out on the floor in front of him. Approaching him slowly, making sure he can hear my footsteps so I don't startle him, and his green eyes are brimming with tears. 

Sitting next to him, I take his other hand in mine, leaning my head on his shoulder as we both look at the mirror, and the map, in silence, the weight of loss hanging heavily in the air. Flicking the door shut with endless magic, I ask the room to only let people in who have good intentions of the current situation, and I hope Hermione and Ron will come and find us soon enough. 

"How-how do we get past this?" he asked quietly, voice choked. I pull him close as a sob escapes him, the strangled sound filling the room. 

"We can only try, one day at a time, and someday it will hurt less," I promise him, "But it doesn't go away, and we can never fully be past it." Pushing my own memories out of my mind at this point seems somewhat hypocritical, but I do it anyway, focussing on my friend, trying to help Harry in any way I can. 

If only I could get rid of all the Chosen One bullshit. Give him his freedom to be Just Harry, as he so often puts it. 

"If you want, I can hex Nott at dinner tonight," I offer with a smile as Harry pulls away from me, cheeks stained with tear-tracks. Harry laughs, then shakes his head and I sigh exaggeratedly. "That's unfortunate. I've been dying to try out a Knockback Jinx on a Slytherin." 

***

Ron takes Harry out flying in the afternoon, narrowly avoiding Madam Hooch's first-year lesson, and when he comes back in for dinner, he's in much higher spirits, and I, taking pity on him, return his hair to its usual colour when he sits down to eat. Most of the other Gryffindor's spells wore off at some point this afternoon, and Cassia insisted I do it again when hers faded back to her normal colour. 

Seamus and I collectively decide tomorrow we need a lie-in before the big event of try-outs in the afternoon, and we frustrate the rest of the Gryffindors with the secrecy for the last time before all is revealed. 

Hermione's especially quiet, probably due to all the Quidditch talk, but she doesn't eat much, again. Keeping one eye on her throughout the whole meal, I join in with the lively conversations about Tonks' lesson ideas, speculating about the rest of the year's classes. 

Afterwards, I catch Hermione before she can leave, and ask tentatively about looking after Cassia. She promises she will, and adds that she's going to come out and watch the try-outs anyway. There's something missing in her expression - maybe she's just tired? Nine NEWTs is a lot of subjects considering the recommendation is no more than seven. 

She promises me she's fine and I take it, not wanting to push too hard and close her off. Seamus shouts to me over the crowd that I'm going to need my energy for our tryout tomorrow, and I roll my eyes, unable to contain the grin at his desire for attention. Hermione's hurried off at the first chance, probably headed for the library, and I sigh, taking a somewhat-sleepy Cassia in my arms and heading down to my quarters, hesitant to get too close to a crowd of Slytherins, who despite being much younger, are still just as likely to taunt. 

As Seamus suggested, I try and get an early night so I'm at my best tomorrow, and I dream of Quidditch, flying above the clouds in pure, uninterrupted bliss. 

***


	6. Experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, Fluff, Sexual Objectification

Hermione skipped breakfast again that morning, and all anyone could talk about was Quidditch. Seamus and I had made a pact to keep relatively quiet that morning, listening to all the speculations about who would be at try-outs. 

Kirke and Sloper, from further down the table, kept stealing glances at the two of us, their nerves betrayed by their lack of appetites. 

Harry seemed nervous too, but there was an excitement in the air, completely unavoidable. This morning, the Ravenclaws have the pitch, and by interhouse courtesy, we've agreed to leave them to their try-outs, as they will to ours. 

Cassia, having no ideas about Quidditch, is fairly quiet, but Ginny and I both explain the basics to her, and that Harry's the Gryffindor team's captain. I don't know if she takes in much of the information but she seems happy enough, drinking her juice. 

I want to see Draco this morning, because chances are, after try-outs, Gryffindors are going to all get caught up with some sort of celebration party for the new team - a house tradition of good faith towards whoever made it to the team. 

But getting a message to him without anyone realising was complicated, especially when he was on the other side of the Great Hall. Well, it was only difficult because I don't want to introduce the mind-speaking element of my skills just yet. And definitely not across a hall full of students, where who can say what his reaction might be.

"Yo, Maeve, lost in space?" Dean asked me across the table, and I compose my face into a confident mask, throwing all thoughts of Draco out my mind. 

"Just in the clouds - can't wait for tryouts," I smirk, and Seamus gives me a twin grin. It's killing him not to be making a spectacle of breakfast this morning, but I have a few constraints against being so cocky in front of the whole school. 

For the first morning in a while, we stay at the table long after everyone's finished eating, partly I suspect to prevent the more curious of us sneaking to see the Ravenclaw tryouts. I peel off when they all head to Gryffindor Tower, Cassia in hand, and promise to meet them a bit later, pretending not to have finished Snape's potions essay due on Monday. Potions homework is the best excuse - absolutely no one would wish you not to be able to turn in an assignment for Snape. 

I plait my hair the muggle way when I get into our quarters, twin French braids along my head and curled tight into a bun where the excess length of auburn braid would no doubt whip me in the face during tryouts. Cassia's so enamoured with the braids that I do the same for her on her short blond locks, finally having gotten over the pink phase, leaving the tail ends to hang by her ears. 

She happily continues to distract me as I go for a book, asking for bubbles and Patronuses and her own blanket fort. I obey on all fronts other than the Patronus - it feels like too advanced magic to be just playing around with for amusement's sake. 

Draco's presence flashes on the ring as she dives into the fort, and I let him in, standing and brushing off my tidy clothes. He looks mildly concerned as he eyes the well-constructed (and magically-assisted) blanket fort, and I tell Cassia we'll just be upstairs. 

"I reckon you're going to crush it at tryouts - Potter would have to be truly messed up to refuse you a spot on the team," Draco said as we entered my room - somehow knowing exactly what I needed to hear. We'd only talked about Quidditch briefly the same night as the friendly match, and that wasn't the smoothest of encounters. My fault, but still ... 

"Cheers, handsome," I reply, winking. He rolls his eyes, probably at my insistence to find some sort of pet name. 

It dawns on me that I don't really know what I'm doing. Draco's in my room, we're both somewhat-awkwardly hovering in the space between the door and the bed, and I have three hours before anyone's going to come looking for me. Confidence just radiates off the blond, and I look away, deciding to go for a more innocuous topic. 

"You done that rune translation yet?" I ask, crossing the space to the pile of assignments on my desk, and I smirk to myself as I feel his eyes on my arse. I'm wearing half-muggle workout clothes under the robes I'd donned at breakfast, and swiftly ditched as soon as I was in my quarters, which I'd hazard a guess Draco doesn't see all that often. 

Muggles love their tight clothes, and these leggings are no exception. 

Admittedly, with a school shirt and tie, it's a strange combination, but it's much more comfortable than tights and a skirt. Undoubtedly. 

I deliberately sway my hips a little more as I take the final two steps, and Draco closes the gap between us, runes translation forgotten before I could even pick it up. He kisses the exposed skin of my neck, and I arch back into him at the feeling of his lips against my skin, barely managing to whisper: "No marks, Romeo." People's eyes are going to be on me this afternoon, I don't want to look snogged senseless, and have the evidence of it on my skin. 

He groans slightly at the request but spins me in his arms, capturing my lips with his. 

"Someone's in a good mood," I murmur against his lips, and I feel them curve upwards beneath mine. 

"I've barely seen you this week, and I didn't fancy pink hair," he responded, a teasing smile in his eyes. 

"Aw, that would be a good look on you," I teased back, and he kissed me again, soft lips taking their time, brushing against mine with the gentlest of touches. I press my body into him, an audible exhale escaping my parted lips as his hands gently run the length of my body, fingertips trailing over my curves. 

His hands hovered over the Gryffindor tie at my neck, and I guided his fingers to it, the hint of a smirk ghosting my lips at how hesitant he is. Catching the look, he scowled slightly, untying the knot and discarding the red-and-gold fabric to the desk behind me. He undoes the first three buttons until there's a hint of lace peeking over the white shirt. Despite his hesitation, he's clearly not lacking in experience, which is a thought I try not to let distract me from the present. 

Draco reclaims my mouth, igniting a different kind of passion, lustier than before, and I stilled my shaking hands in taking fistfuls of his jumper, using it to pull him closer. Peppering kisses across my exposed skin, Draco long fingers dig slightly into my waist as he lifts me to sit on the edge of the desk, and I wrap my legs around his waist. 

He moaned slightly into my skin at the contact, and I smirked as the sound vibrated against my skin. I lock my legs in closer, guiding his face up to mine, our lips smashing together in shared desire. 

The light in the room turned green, and I pulled away, groaning. Draco gave me a concerned look, eyebrows raised in question. 

"Cassia's coming up here," I reply, releasing Draco's hips and reaching my hands to the buttons, doing up the first two as Draco ran a hand through his messy hair. Checking my own braids in the mirror, I catch Draco palming himself through his trousers. 

Sure enough, the door bursts open and Cassia enters, asking for something to eat. Resisting the urge to sigh, I summon a Chocolate Cauldron and hand it to the beaming girl, flicking her braids as they bounced with her step. She bounds off back downstairs now she had her prize, and I turn back to Draco, whose face is a mix of emotions. 

"There are times when I wish I could have you all to myself," he states boldly, too boldly, and my eyes narrow. 

"Feel free to choose any other girl in the school if all you're looking for is a fuck," I snap, tugging my tie off the desk. 

"Maeve, you know that's not what I meant," he replied softly, and the burst of anger flickers out as quickly as it appeared. 

My shoulders sag slightly as I turn to the mirror. "I know, I know, but I can't leave her to her own devices all the time, she's only little." Tying the knot the muggle way, I fix my collar, catching Draco's eye in the mirror. 

"I didn't mean to suggest that you should, I-, well I don't know what I meant," he concluded honestly, and I hold his gaze. 

"At some point, I promise, we'll get a night to ourselves," I vow, and Draco's eyes light up a little. I reach up to hug him, taking in his mint and citrus scent. 

When he pulls away, he looks me intensely in the eye and I raise my eyebrow at him. "And no, I haven't done the Rune translation." Laughter erupts from me, and he joins in, taking my hand as we sit down at the desk, single chair transfigured into a low bench, nudging into each other as we stare at the Runic message, a textbook in hand to figure this assignment out, our gripped hands as much of a reminder of the last twenty minutes as can be productive.

Though I wouldn't object to being unproductive for the feeling of Draco and me together, I've got Quidditch in an hour or so, and I need to be at my best for that if I'm to make the team with Seamus. 

***

Seamus and I met just outside the Gryffindor changing rooms, both heading out in borrowed Quidditch robes, brooms in hand and identical confident looks on our faces. Carefully eyeing our competition as we walked to the pitch, I see that Sloper and Kirke are the only other pair, but by no means does that mean we have no other competition. There are a few fourth-years, one very nervous-looking second year which despite his age, looks like he has the makings of a greater beater, and two others from the fifth-year, the same as Sloper and Kirke. 

With a frown, I realise I'm the only girl trying out for beater. There's a healthy scattering of girls throughout the chasers and only two for keepers. Ron and McLaggen are engaged in a short-tempered looking conversation, and I make my way over to the second-year beater-tryout-ee. 

"Hey, kid, you good?" His eyes flicker to me before scanning the crowd. 

"Yeah, mates made me try out, not that I reckon I've got a chance to make the team after last week," he admits, nervously gripping his broom, knuckles slowly losing all traces of colour. 

"Experience is experience, mate, even trying out can be good practice," I encourage, and he smiles slightly. "Loosen the grip, take the nerves by the balls and try your best." I wink at him, smirking widely at his shock, and head back over to Seamus, who's doing his best not to appear like he's ready to kill for this position. 

He's failing, but at least he's trying. 

"Kid could be a good beater," I comment as his eyes narrow at me. "Right build, keen eye, seems to know what he's on about." 

Harry calls to start the try-outs, met by whistles and screams of excitement and house spirit. He starts with the chasers, and keepers, leaving the beaters to retreat to the stands and watch the first part of the tryouts. 

"Weasley's good at this," Seamus comments as Ron saves his fourth goal in a row, shot by Katie Bell, no less. "To be fair to him, Harry's definitely keeping this unbiased; I reckon someone'll accuse him of it anyway." I nod roughly, knowing that kind of response awaited from a couple of people here if they didn't make it. 

"Ginny's good too, though I reckon she'd be a seeker if it weren't for Harry," I add as we watch her score against McLaggen, and I secreted away a smile. _I'm totally unbiased, I'm totally unbiased, I'm - oh fuck it I don't like the guy._

I listen as some of the other beaters make their own remarks on the players, silently agreeing or disagreeing, resisting the urge to lash out at one of the fourth-years when all he does is comment on how sexy women look on brooms. 

We both cheer as Dean scores, against one of the younger keepers, and I don't miss the motion of him looking directly to Ginny as he scores. Hm. Now that I think about it, they quite easily could be dating and I would never know. I'm rarely in the common room at any other time than free periods, which Ginny's always in class for since she's taking her OWLs this year. 

When the chaser/keeper tryouts finish, Harry sends them all to the stands and calls the beaters onto the pitch, and a shot of nerves fly through me. Being the only woman on the pitch is very daunting, and, though I can't help but regret the thought, I'm relieved I tied my hair out the way and have my figure covered up with these robes. It's not like it hides who I am, but it gives them a less visible reason to prompt sexist comments. 

Seamus catches my slight frown and sends me a reassuring grin, and as we take to the air, bats in hand, I feel the rush of adrenaline eviscerate any nerves. Seamus and I hover together, taking in everyone in flight. 

"Sloper's holding the bat in the wrong hand, injury?" I remark quietly, and Seamus raises his eyebrows. "And that second-year looks slightly like a startled deer, why don't we not try and knock him off his broom?" I add, and Seamus' grin turns wicked. 

On the ground below us, Ginny released two bludgers, and Harry hovered on his firebolt just out of range as he individually assessed us and our skills, technique and strength to dissuade the vicious ball from its path. Seamus and I complete this little test with flying colours, and I note that the only other one able to swing with such balance on the broom was the second-year, now that he had steeled his nerves a little. Sloper was off-balance the whole time, and Kirke, though he had the skill, didn't have the confidence. 

The others did well enough that Harry didn't throw anyone out after the first round, instead, pairing up the solo beaters as the two pairs banded together. 

"These pairings aren't the be-all-and-end-all, I'm looking for how you work with any partner, and mostly at your skills," Harry shouted, and we all nodded, but I silently disagreed. A pair of beaters who can already work together is much more likely to get a spot; it's better for the team dynamic too. 

In the past week of training, Seamus and I had worked on a few flashy tricks, things designed to grab people's attention, but nothing was more important than tracking your partner, and where the bludgers are at all times. Keeping track of the rest of the team is usually a good bet too, but for these try-outs, it's not so relevant. 

Harry gave us the task of protecting the group of beaters as they hovered in the air, moving around but in the limited space of the central third of the pitch. Sloper and Kirke went first, volunteering for it, and I watched them with interest as I noticed that despite the apparent injury, Sloper was still up-to-par on his skills with the bat, managing to track both bludgers, and not once did one break through the line, even when it rapidly changed its angle and came at the group of beaters unexpectedly. 

Harry called to halt, and switched pairs, the second-year, being paired with a fourth-year of similar height and build, despite the age gap. As I watched them, I have to admit, that second-year _is_ good. He's really good. His fourth-year partner, however is pretty terrible. No doubt the boy has power in those muscles, but he lacks the spatial awareness, and let the bludger into the crowd three times in the span of about five minutes, and Harry called them to a stop. 

Those times the bludger got through, I could see the frustration growing on the second-year's face, and I used the bat I'd been tossing idly in my hand to whack the bludger out of the way, giving him a small reprieve for however long it took the bludger to return to the centre of the pitch.

Harry, despite not grounding the fourth-year, clearly wanted to. Seamus commented the same quietly to me, and the fourth-years friends loudly ripped into him, earning shoves from the embarrassed boy. 

Before it could dissolve into a full-out fight, Harry called the fourth-year pair to have their turn, and by the somewhat grim look on his face, he didn't especially like their style. It was ruthless, neither of the two of them had any regard for the other, and twice they almost collided as they went for the same bludger. 

Though I wasn't keeping time, Harry cut their turn slightly short, calling the other fifth-year pairs out. As I circled, getting somewhat impatient, I had to admit that they were good. Maybe not together, but there was a definite appreciation for spatial awareness and the moving team, and the bludger only made it through the line once, Seamus smashing it out of the pitch for them. 

I spotted Cassia in the stands with Hermione, and a proud shiver ran up my spine. Or was that from the chill? We've been up here a while now, and I flex my limbs as much as my balance will allow, knowing Harry planned for Seamus and I to go last just to see how we did after all the time in the air. _Bastard._

When he finally called it to be our turn, Seamus and I caught each other's eye, simultaneously throwing our bats to each other, smoothly catching them as we switched. Harry rolled his eyes, an impressed smile playing on his lips as Seamus and I took up our positions, waiting for Harry to release the stasis on the bludgers. 

We sped around the outside of the pack of beaters, twisting and turning as we each covered one side of the group, then at Seamus' whistle, switched to covering one bludger each, zooming to block its path every time it went towards the beaters. 

I caught Seamus' favourite trick from the corner of my eye, smashing the bludger away as he barrel-rolled under the bludger, sweeping it in a downwards strike mid-roll. Clapping reached us from the stands and Seamus almost let it distract him, but sped after the bludger as it came back at a much different angle. 

As he sends one bludger smashing out of the park, a different two-tone whistle pierces my ears, and I grip the broom ever-tighter with my knees, swinging somewhat precariously as Seamus approaches me, concentration on his face as a bludger aims at the both of us, and I edge higher the critical split-second approaching. 

In exactly the right moment, as we practised relentlessly, I swing myself to be gripping the broom by just my knees, ankles locked as Seamus and I, upside-down and one hand loosely on the handle, hit the same bludger at once, sending it spinning off with immense force into one of the towers, and screams and cheers erupts as I swing myself back over my broom, Seamus already darting off to deal with the bludger rapidly approaching the other side of the pack. 

He bats that one away with ease, and Harry calls our turn closed, a slightly pale look on his face, his usual Quidditch flush absent. 

"Right then, I think we can call try-outs to a close, let's head for the ground," Harry called over the continuing cheering. 

Once on steady ground, I rush over to Seamus, who hugs me tightly, the excitement radiating off him in waves as we executed our whole plan, save a couple of plays that weren't too relevant in this set-up. Harry makes a speech about everyone's effort being appreciated, and that he's going to make his decision and announce it after dinner in the common room, at 7 o'clock. 

A collective groan goes up at the thought of having to wait three hours for the results, but I just smile, trying to calm my racing heart from the thrill of flying. Sending everyone else off to the showers, Harry pulls me aside, the carefree grin vanishing as soon as everyone's backs were turned. 

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Maeve?" he demanded, dropping his firebolt in frustration. It hovered obediently at a slight distance as Harry paced in front of me. "That was so unbelievably dangerous, and not to tell anyone ... damnit Maeve you scared me," he swore, and I took a small step forward. 

"Harry, that wasn't my intention, and anyway, I've done it a hundred times before, Seamus knew exactly what I was doing, and I doubt, with all the witches and wizards around, I would have come to any harm from something as simple as a fall. Hell, Hermione would've done something," I argued, and his face softened slightly. 

"Besides," I continue, and he looks at me, concerned for how happy my tone changed to. "You've survived many worse Quidditch-related injuries; Pomphrey would've fixed me up if anything had happened." 

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation and didn't dignify me with a response as we headed in for the changing rooms, and I carefully didn't prod him of his decision. Any prying ears would definitely call my position a result of favouritism. 

Before we could even reach the changing rooms, a group of green-tied boys made their way towards us, and with an unpleasant roll of my stomach, I spotted a familiar blond. I tried not to let the grip on my bat visibly tighten. 

"Potter must really be scraping the barrel if he needs women as beaters," Blaise Zabini laughs as the crowd of them stop in front of us. Brushing off his comment, I try and move Harry around them, but the boy hand twitches towards his wand and stays firmly in his place. 

"Piss off Zabini," I respond calmly, flipping him off. 

"Are you sure she's a girl, Blaise? Didn't think the girl had tits," Goyle laughed, and Harry silently fumed beside me. Goyle's changed since first-year, that much is clear. Not so much of a silent bodyguard, no, he's graduated to throwing his own insults. 

"Why don't we have a look?" Nott leered, and I suppressed the convulsion running through my body at the thought. Levelling my wand at them, aimed right between Nott's eyes, I narrowed my eyes. Panic washed his features momentarily before he schooled his features into a neutral-ish sneer. 

"Get out of here, before I do something I regret," I say coolly, and they laugh a little, slightly more nervously than before. 

"What is going on here?" My heart dropped as Snape stalked into my view, and I lowered my wand. Both Harry and Nott stepped forward, explaining simultaneously what happened, and I shrunk back slightly, knowing that whatever Snape had to say wouldn't be good. Experience of years of Slytherin word against Gryffindor word always ending the same taught me to shut up and let Snape hear what he wanted to hear. Arguing wouldn't make a difference anyway. 

Harry made an indignant sound as Snape silenced them both, scanning between the two groups of people. "Mr Malfoy, can you explain what happened?" Foolish hope bubbled in me, and I swallowed it down, trying not to hope that Draco would take this opportunity to help me out. 

As Draco recounted the same version of events that Nott had, I felt nothing but anger radiating from him, but, too tired from the tryouts, I couldn't decipher its target. 

Snape's eyes flicked to me as Draco finished, and I could practically feel his eyes boring into me. "It would seem that Mr Goyle has a point," he said maliciously, and I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. Harry's rage rose beside me, and I put a steadying hand on his arm. "Detention, Miss Ellis for threatening a fellow student. Dismissed." 

I refused to look at any of them as I practically dragged Harry away, not trusting him not to start a fight on my behalf. I don't let go of his hand until we're inside the now-empty Gryffindor changing rooms, where he wrenches his hand away, looking horrified at me. 

"How can you just take that, Maeve? Snape he just - he can't do that, he's staff, he's Order, he's in a position of trust - damnit Maeve, why are you so calm?" Harry yelled, pacing frantically around the benches. He let out a frustrated cry when he walked into the edge of one, the magic in him slipping out of control as the bench burst into flames. 

Quietly, I put the fire out and repaired the bench. Harry continued pacing as if nothing had happened, spewing insults to Snape, to Draco, to all of Slytherin. I shove my shaking hands in my pocket. 

Resisting the urge to hex Harry to stop his rage, I just slip off my Quidditch robe, folding it neatly by hand. I methodically untie my boots and remove them, slipping off socks and shedding my top, leaving me in a sports bra and leggings. 

"When you're ready to have a conversation about this without yelling, I'll talk," I say quietly, a dangerous calm settling in with my words. Making an extra effort to keep my walk casual, I head into the showers, dying for a distraction. 

I catch my reflection in a mirror and frown slightly. On a quick glance at my body, it's not the childish, nor overly-masculine, figure that the Slytherins made it out to be. I shed the leggings, and stare at the muscles in my thighs and calves, the hint of abs across my stomach and a fairly distinct line of a bicep along each of my arms. Swallowing hard, I look at my breasts beneath the slightly-padded fabric and sigh. 

Goyle had a point. They're there, just about, but they are of no note whatsoever. But for Snape to comment on it ... and Draco to just go along with Nott's story without hesitation ... 

I tear myself away from the mirror, charming my braided hair to repel water, and step under rushing warm water, losing myself in its heat. 

***


	7. Exclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Explicit language

***

Harry was sitting and waiting on the repaired bench when I left the showers, still in his robes and a troubled look on his face. He didn't look up when I walked in, and I knelt down by his side, taking his hand. 

"Maeve, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, and I didn't mean to set the bench on fire." Remorse leaking out of Harry's mind, and I gave him a soft smile. 

I can't stay mad at him, not when his mind so clearly tells me he regrets his words. 

"Look, I'm as angry as you are about what Snape said - the other Slytherins I expect it from, but he's a teacher, he should know better," I explain, "But I know that cursing him to hell and back isn't going to make him take back the words, and it might just throw me out of Hogwarts. And you know what Snape is like - he'd make Cassia's life a living hell if I cursed him, when she's a student here in the future," I reason, and Harry looks sheepishly at me. 

He can't exactly deny it, since that's exactly what he did with his revenge on James Potter - took it out on Harry, many years later compared to when Cassia will be here. 

"I'm sorry, I hadn't thought it through that thoroughly," he admitted, and I nodded, tilting my head slightly in agreement. "What I do know is that they're going to have priceless looks on their faces when my new Beaters smash the Slytherin team," Harry smirks, and I press my lips together, a failed attempt to suppress a smile. 

He makes to hug me, and I slide back on the floor, giving him a disbelieving look. "Harry, mate, you haven't showered; if you think I'm hugging you right now, you're having a laugh." I squeal as he lunges for me, and I dodge the benches as I run, Harry close in pursuit. 

He grabs the back of my shirt, yanking back and causing me to stumble back into him, sending us both crashing to the floor. Lying on the floor, we looked at each other and burst out in laughter. 

"You still need to shower," I mutter as I straighten my clothes. "Plus, someone has to make a decision on the team," I add, somewhat slyly, and he rolls his eyes at me before heading for the showers. 

Draco's face flashed across my mind as I headed back into the main castle, and I couldn't help but think this is exactly what I signed up for when we agreed to keep us a secret. Especially in front of all those Slytherins, and Snape - not attacking me verbally would've been a clear signal to anyone there that something wasn't as it normally was. 

I push down the tiny part of my that wanted him to defend me, knowing it was unrealistic. Mentally forcing myself to forgive him doesn't set the best precedent for our relationship, but once I know we're on solid ground, I'll start the conversation of branching out to at least our friends. 

Keeping secrets from Harry, Ron and Hermione will never feel natural, not on any level, but this is about Draco too, and despite any current anger towards him, I do care about him, and I don't want to cause a serious fight between him and Ron and Harry. 

Entering the Gryffindor common room, there's an explosion of red and gold glitter, and I have all the sixth-years around me, congratulating me on that upside-down hit. Both Sloper and Kirke were wearing good-natured smiles across the room, and none of the fourth-year beaters were anywhere to be seen. 

Spying Cassia in an armchair, story-book in hand, I descended on her, and she jumped up, _Room on the Broom_ completely forgotten as she threw her arms around me. 

_Is it dangerous, Maevey?_ She asked me as I sat down, her in my lap. Wincing at the thought of outright lying to her, I sigh slightly, settling further back into the chair. 

_Sometimes, Cassia, yeah, but if anything goes wrong, the Mediwitch can heal it all up and it'll be like nothing happened,_ I assured her, and she watched my expression with wide eyes. To be fair, it's not like Quidditch is any more dangerous than some of the spells we do in Defence in sixth year, and that's a part of the syllabus. 

_Did you behave well for Hermione?_ I asked, idly picking glitter off my clothes. Cassia launches into an energetic, aloud, description of all the little bits of magic Hermione did for her, and I can't conceal the grin on my face at how genuinely excited she is. 

Ron and Ginny set up a wizards' chessboard on the rug and Cassia watched, intrigued at the game. Even with all the noise of the common room, I found myself drifting, Cassia's weight in my lap a comforting sensation. 

_Maevey, I'm hungry._ Cassia's mental voice woke me from my sleep, and I blinked awake, taking in the scene in front of me. The common room was substantially less busy, and Cassia had made her way into Ginny's lap, the game long over, and by Ron's smug expression, the winner had been clear. 

"Look who's finally awake," Ron teased, and I sent him a glare. 

"You try being woken up at 5 am every day, see if you're tired," I retaliate, stretching my sore arms. Surveying the room, neither Harry nor Hermione are here, but some of the other sixth-years are, namely Seamus, Dean and Neville. Thinking back sluggishly through the day, I can't recall Hermione being at either breakfast or lunch, so I head up to the dormitory. Ginny assures me that she can take Cassia to dinner, and I promise to be there soon, with Hermione in tow. The latter half was a mental promise, but even so, it equally needs to be fulfilled. 

Climbing these stairs is a nostalgia trip if ever I've had one. I almost walk into the wrong dorm, and when I find the right one, my breathing hitches. The room is beautiful, almost the same as I remember last years' one to have been, but only having four beds in the room feels wrong. 

Hermione's sitting in her bed, book on her lap, and I lean back against the doorframe. 

Deliberately scuffing my shoes on the floor to get her attention, I ask softly, "You coming to dinner, 'Mione?" 

She shook her head weakly, and concern flickered through me. "Sorry, Maevey, I'm just not hungry," she whispered, and I crossed the room to her. Asking silent permission to sit, she nodded, swiftly her legs slightly and wincing. 

"Tell me what's wrong, 'Mione," I request gently, and her eyes widen, abandoning the book beside her. Waiting patiently has never been my strong suit, but I buried that side of me as I gave her my full attention - something admittedly I haven't done since Cassia became my responsibility. 

She fidgets nervously with her hands in her lap, avoiding my eyes. 

"You were amazing at tryouts," she starts, and I blink in shock. I could've guessed a hundred things that would be her first words, and that would never have been on the list. "I can't compete with that," she whispers, and I reach out to take her hand. 

"No one is asking you to compete, 'Mione," I assure her, and she sighs. "Need I remind you of your OWLs?"

"I know, I know, but everyone's been so obsessed with Quidditch lately and it's difficult, you know? The one thing I'm rubbish at is the only thing anyone seems to be interested in talking about," she admitted, and I feel my heart freeze. 

I've been talking Quidditch endlessly; Seamus and I took over the conversations at every mealtime this week. 

"Oh, 'Mione, I'm so sorry," I breathe, holding her gaze as insecurity leaks into her aura. "If you come down to dinner tonight, I promise I won't mention Quidditch at all, and we can talk academics all you want," I bargain, and she smiles as I drag her to her feet. 

Throwing her robe at her, she giggles as she puts it on, messily tugging a brush through her hair. Linking my arm through hers as we leave Gryffindor tower, I mention the Arithmancy essay I'm struggling with and Hermione takes the opportunity to explain everything in detail, walking me through a detailed explanation of that class and how to understand it more easily. 

Harry had reached the Great Hall before we did, but was shockingly quiet as he ate, refusing to speak about Quidditch, and joining in on Hermione and my discussion of Defence classes and assignments. 

The spelled objects were a good lesson, very involved and almost no textbook work either. We all speculated on the duelling tournament that Tonks had told us would start next week with the first half of the class being the principles and basics of duelling and the second half the official first duels. 

"I reckon Malfoy'll do well in that," Hermione remarked as we gave comments on the others in the class, hopefully, to help propel the Gryffindors to the top of the rankings. My chest constricted a little at the mention of Draco, and I stubbornly refused to look over to the Slytherin table. 

Harry quickly changes the subject away from the Slytherins and asks me about Care of Magical Creatures, and I tell them about how Buckbeak is doing, though I leave out our conversation, and talk about the incident with Hannah Abbott. 

Hermione doesn't eat much over dinner but considering it was such an effort to get her here in the first place, I'll take any sign of a win. Cassia had been happy to stay with Ginny, and I watched them both as Hermione brought up the Potions essay, at which Harry groaned. Apparently, he had yet to complete the required reading and the three feet of parchment Snape had asked for. 

Hermione, being Hermione, chastised him lightly for leaving everything so last-minute, and threatened him with yet another homework planner for Christmas if he didn't get his act together. 

When I pushed my plate of dessert towards Hermione, she momentarily deliberated, and then snatched up the chocolate cake, flashing me an appreciative smile. 

"Ginny's pretty good with her, isn't she?" Harry observes, and I nod, as I watch Cassia teach Ginny what a pinky-promise is. 

It's somewhat surprising that a pinky-promise is solely a Muggle thing, with wizards having inventions like Unbreakable Vows and all their lesser versions, but Ginny takes it very seriously as Cassia explains to it her. 

The Hufflepuff and Slytherin tables are much more subdued than the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, the two houses not having had their tryouts yet. I believe those are both scheduled for tomorrow, and then it'll be a complete free-for-all with practice and pitch time before a timetable is produced. 

Having a timetable requires all the captains to agree - things like that just _don't_ happen. 

***

Hermione headed to the library after dinner, determinedly avoiding the common room, as Harry was due for his Quidditch team announcement. Ron, the closer the end of the meal came, got progressively quieter, and his eyes were firmly on his own plate, barely looking at Harry. 

Seamus and I walked together back to the common room, Cassia balanced on my side, close to falling asleep. He, despite his earlier confidence, was rather subdued too. Only Ginny kept the conversation light and flowing, seemingly pretty secure about her position as a chaser. 

Practically the whole of Gryffindor gathered in the common room after the evening meal, and Harry took his place, a few steps up from the main level of the common room on the spiral staircase leading to the dormitories. 

The room was hushed without much effort - everyone seemed equally eager to hear the new team. 

"Right then, this year's Quidditch team. As I hope we know, tryouts were earlier this afternoon, and there's a lot of skill in this house-" A roar of assent went up in the room. "-and there's no way I can make everyone happy. But, I hope, from all of you at tryouts, and in the stands supporting us, we can agree this is the best team I could come up with." 

"My three chasers are," Harry paused, scanning the room. "Katie Bell, Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas!" We all loudly cheered and whistled, and I watched as the three nominated chasers went to the front of the room, taking a spot against the wall. 

"My Keeper is Ron Weasley!" More cheering filled the air as Ron, blushing bright red, joined his sister at the front wall. 

"My two beaters are-" the twinkle in Harry's eye was unmistakable as he crossed over us. "Seamus Finnegan and Maeve Ellis!" Clapping bounced off the walls, consuming the entire atmosphere of the room. 

"Thank you to everyone who tried out, and can we have another round of applause for our new team?" Harry goaded the crowd, and they obliged easily, creating enough ruckus to annoy the painting of a young McGonagall into disappearing, and I suppressed the grin I guessed as the real McGonagall would appear soon, and appear livid for all the noise. 

Some of the younger students set off some of Fred and George's famous indoor fireworks and the atmosphere in the room was electric as Harry summoned six new sets of Gryffindor Quidditch robes, presenting each of us with them like a badge of honour. 

Making us a real team. 

I draped the robe over my arm, Cassia still held up using my other, and leant back against the wall, watching as the excitement for this Quidditch season bubbled up. 

Cassia was awake, but barely. Her fists were balled up in my jumper, her head leaned into my shoulder, wisps from the plaits escaping and settling on her face. 

Harry takes the robes back, handing me a Butterbeer instead, and I smile gratefully at him. 

"I don't know why anyone would question how strong you are," he started, vanishing my robes back to his room. "You spend hours holding Cassia with one arm." I laugh at his bluntness and almost choke on a mouthful of Butterbeer. Cassia whines a little at the sudden movement, and I rock back and forth a little, soothingly. 

"Being a beater, and holding a child are two very different things, but ... thanks, I guess," I laugh, and Harry grins at me. 

I don't venture any further into the party that's forming in the room, but many of my friends, and now teammates, are happily the centres of attention, specifically the Weasleys and Seamus. Leaving a party early was never my style in previous years - I'd easily be up all night if McGonagall hadn't cut the parties short. 

But now, with Cassia, that wasn't exactly an option, and when Harry promised to cover for me if I disappeared, I could've kissed him. I catch Hermione on my way out as she's heading to turn in for the night, and briefly let her know who made the team, so she'd at least be prepared for how manic it was in there. 

She congratulated me briefly, but her expression didn't match the emotions radiating out of her. Before I could comment, she'd disappeared through the portrait-hole, and I sighed, heading off down the staircases, arms heavying with fatigue. 

Something is up with her, something more than feeling left out because of Quidditch. Her emotions are a jumbled mess, and she's more buried than usual by schoolwork, but that might just be the sheer volume of NEWTs she's attempting to study for. It feels like it's more than that though. 

She's been especially secretive about her extra project for this year - maybe it's just that she's stressing over? 

Since she's less than forthcoming with the details, I don't have much to go on without being downright invasive. 

Down in the dungeons, the poorly-lit corridors are somewhat ominous, and I gently inch my wand out of its sheath. If I'm attacked, it's usually best to be prepared. I've only got three more corridors before my quarters, and if I'm lucky, I won't run into Snape at this time of the evening. 

_Why do I speak these things into existence?_ I ask myself as I see Snape coming towards me as I round the last corner before my quarters. 

"Miss Ellis, you're out late," Snape drawled, and I shoved my wand away. 

"I don't believe I'm out past curfew, Sir," I respond coolly, taking care not to give him a single reason to punish me. 

I shift Cassia onto my other hip, carrying her with my wand arm so I'm not tempted to curse him. Though technically I can do wandless magic, so I guess that's not so relevant. Oh well. It's the thought that counts. 

"Detention is Monday at 6 pm. Do not be late," he warns, and I nod, trying not to argue. 

When he walks away, I can't resist muttering, "Sexist prick," to myself, and the footsteps behind me stop dead. Fuck. 

I pause, probably a bad move, and listen as footsteps approach me. Turning around slowly, I take in the dangerous glint in his eyes. Okay, that was definitely a bad move. 

"What was that, Miss Ellis?" he asks softly, dangerously, and I look away. 

"Nothing, Sir," I almost snap, just about reigning in my tone. 

"Do you have an objection to the grounds of your detention?" he asked silkily, and I shook my head, not trusting myself to say the right words. 

Before Snape could say another word, Cassia wriggled uncomfortably in her sleep, grip tightening as tears leaked down her face. I rocked my body soothingly, murmuring nonsense to her, trying not to have to intercept her thoughts with company, despite the fact that I wouldn't exactly call Snape company, but still. 

Tears turned into full-out sobbing and I stroked her hair, kind words mentally spoken to her as I turned to Snape.

"May I be excused?" I ask stiffly, my free hand running through Cassia's falling-out plaits. 

He looked downright uncomfortable as he nodded, and I sped away, eager to put distance between myself and the Potions Master. I had an instinct he would have tried to look in her mind - I'm fully aware Snape prides himself with Legilimency, information courtesy of Harry - and that isn't going to happen. Ever. 

I can promise the sly bastard that much. 

***

Monday morning rolled around and I found myself purposefully avoiding Draco, actively involving Hermione at mealtimes, trying to keep on top of schoolwork, entertaining Cassia, dreading Potions and looking forward to Quidditch practice. 

It's not even October yet and my schedule is looking pretty jam-packed. 

Breakfast was quiet, even by Monday morning standards, and there were some intra-house tensions brewing - largely, I guessed, due to Quidditch. All the houses had had their tryouts this weekend, and I'm assuming there are a fair amount of disappointed students. 

I let Neville talk my ear off about Herbology whilst I coaxed food into an over-tired Cassia, who despite being exhausted still managed to wake me up at five-thirty. She stubbornly refused anything that wasn't sweet, and I gave in to her easily, not wanting an argument.

I've been quite lucky with her, in terms of eating. Other than minor meltdowns about pumpkin juice being a scam, there's been no drama in front of the whole hall. Keen to keep that streak, I only persuade her with things she doesn't like when we're alone in our rooms. 

I pair with Ron in Potions, and he agrees to let me take control, and as long as Snape thinks he's doing something, it should go unnoticed that he has little idea (or care for) what he's doing. 

Tragically for Ron, Snape's attention is on me, and therefore him, and attacks more mercilessly than usual, insisting I step away and let Ron complete the next two steps. Gently I nudge the textbook to him, and Snape's eyes narrow. 

"Surely Mr Weasley is competent enough for this potion, Miss Ellis," Snape remarks coldly, and Ron's ears turn red. 

It's at times like these I wish I could use my mental magic and speak the directions straight into Ron's mind, so that Snape, none the wiser, or at least not able to prove it, for once gets what's coming and can't fault a Gryffindor. 

I vow to myself to bring it up to them later. I was tempted to talk to Seamus about it to help out our communication, but I'm pretty sure that's breaking a couple (at least) rules of the game. 

Ron fumbles his way through the potion, and I wince when he stirs it clockwise, instead of anticlockwise as the instructions required. Snape pounced on his mistake in an instant, and Ron clenched his fist under the desk, and I'd be willing to predict the language going through his mind was somewhat _colourful_. 

I watched as Snape vanished the potion and bid us to start again with a final comment at Gryffindor incompetence, which Harry, across the room, looked ready to argue against. I shot him a warning look and he quieted, shredding the wings with more ferocity than is necessary. Hermione stilled his hand before he mutilated the ingredients beyond use. 

Ron and I started over, and I made an extra effort to make it seem like Ron was participating at least 50% to this potion. 

Snape didn't bother us for the rest of the class, instead, pouncing on Harry, and loudly praising Draco's potion. 

As he dismissed us later, he snapped across the room: "6 pm, Miss Ellis. Don't be late." 

My face contorted as he called me out in front of the whole class, and I was the first one out of the room, heading angrily for my own room. Harry, Ron and Hermione weren't far behind, and Draco, though he kept his distance, had his eyes on me. 

I vaguely heard Harry explaining the cause of my detention to Ron and Hermine, and there were many outraged sounds and half-sentences, all cut off since the Slytherins were still close by. Best not get the rest of us thrown in detention for cursing about a teacher, specifically the Slytherin Head of House. 

I reach my quarters and almost rip down the portrait in anger as I storm in. Ron Harry and Hermione follow in behind me, all emotions jumbled in a mix of nerves, concern, anger and outrage. I didn't take them in for long enough to differentiate whose were whose. 

"We can report this to McGonagall," Hermione assured me, and as I threw myself onto the sofa, I shook my head. 

"You can't let Snape win," Ron replied, outrage in his face. Cassia came hurtling down the stairs at the sound of voices, and a brief smile flickered onto my face. She jumped into my lap, and I pulled her close, seeking comfort from my baby sisters' presence. 

Cassia, bless her, could tell something was up, and I didn't have the heart to explain the issue. Harry summoned Dobby and asked for us to have lunch here, which the House-Elf was overly eager to oblige to, snapping back in less than a minute with plates of sandwiches, snacks and cupcakes. 

Delighted at the magic, Cassia squealed when he reappeared, and dug straight into some food, without the usual persuasion required for her to eat something that doesn't come straight out of Honeydukes. 

Hermione picked delicately at a sandwich I passed her, and as usual, Ron ate enough for all of us. I think a Weasley family trait must be a hollow leg - they all eat so much and never put on weight. 

I start speculating on what Snape will have me doing tonight for detention, and Harry and Ron pitch in, and with all our collective knowledge of Snape's detention ideas, we form quite a substantial list.

I'm hoping he won't degrade me so far to the same detentions he hands out liberally to the first years, but I wouldn't bank on it. Anything to make me seem lesser appears to be his strategy. 

"Look, Maeve, I still think we should take this to McGonagall, maybe not to get the detention revokes, but a teacher commenting on a student's body is entirely inappropriate," Harry reasoned, much more calmly than our last conversation on the subject. 

I look down at the suddenly-unappetising plate of food balanced on my lap. "I don't want to show him that it got to me, and admittedly, yes I did threaten Nott, well technically all of them. Besides, what can McGonagall do about it? Put _him_ in detention?"

Ron burst out laughing at the mental picture, and I imagine Snape writing lines, sitting in the Transfiguration classroom. 

"Oh, I wanted to teach you guys something," I start, reminding myself of my earlier promise to myself. "Purely to get back at Snape, actually." I've got the boys attention, and Hermione just looks mildly concerned at the prospect. 

"You know I can speak into Cassia's mind through a mental link?" I confirm, and they all nod. "Well, I can form a temporary one, just enough for two-way-speech without being invasive, and next time Snape puts you on the spot with Potions, like he did today with Ron, I could fill you in, or connect the boys with Hermione, and we could finally stop giving him reasons to attack us in lesson for working together because if he doesn't know we're working together, he can't stop us." 

Ron and Harry's face form smirks, clearly happy at the prospect of not being singled out in front of the class by Snape anymore.

"It's not like I'd do it in exams, 'Mione," I assure her as the unasked question hovers between us. "I wanted to today, but I didn't want to freak you out by doing it the first time in class."

Harry nods appreciatively at that, and I shuffle to the edge of my seat. 

"I'll be in control of the connection, and theoretically you should be able to feel when its bridged, and cut out. Anyone want to volunteer?" I ask with a smirk, and Hermione does, almost immediately. 

I slide into my mental state, reaching out across the room with tendrils of mental energy and magic to find Hermione's signature, which is easily distinguishable from the boys' ones. The magic crosses the room at a relative pace, edging around other mental forms as it goes. When I lock onto her mind, I embed a tiny particle of magic into her mind and retreat back into my own mind, securing the connection as I go. 

Admittedly, this was slightly more thorough than it would ever be again, and almost left a doorway only I can access to make the process quicker next time. 

_Hermione, can you hear me?_ I ask tentatively once I'm securely back in my own mind. Her eyes widen in the real world, and I encourage her gently to try speaking. 

_Maeve, this is properly weird,_ she states boldly, and I giggle mentally. Mastering controlling your tone mentally can be pretty difficult, so I'm fully expecting to get slightly more information than they realise. 

_But look at us, we're having a mental conversation,_ I remind her, and she grins, the expression showing up on her physical face. Facial expressions are the other thing that takes time to master, but what we wanted is accomplished. Mental conversation, check. 

"I'm going to cut it now, 'Mione," I inform her aloud, and she nods, expression blanching slightly as I reel in the connection cord, taking care not to sabotage my doorway. 

She bounces out of her seat and to mine, hugging me tightly. When she heads off to Muggle Studies, I repeat the process with Harry and Ron, enjoying the pure wonder as we each have a conversation. 

Ron's eager to get out of tough spots in Potions, and Harry, his enthusiasm for Quidditch apparently endless, suggested we do this with the team, and I had to knock down that excitement. 

_There are multiple reasons we can't. it would require a permanent connection, and with the rest of the team especially, they won't know what to broadcast and what not to. Plus, it's definitely an illegal tactic._ Harry seems appeased by my explanation, and it's only after I sever the connection that his mind reaches the conclusion I thought it would. 

"We could use this to stop Voldemort giving me dreams?" he asks questioningly, hope bubbling up in his eyes. 

I nod. "This is just a form of Legilimency; Snape's supposed to be teaching you I think." Harry pulled a face, proclaiming he'd much rather have me teaching him. 

It's new to see Harry with the hope of stopping this mental connection with Voldemort, and it's a good look on him. I just hope I can help as much as he thinks I can. 

***


	8. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Explicit Language, light fluff

***

Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door of the Potions classroom, steeling my nerves for whatever Snape has concocted to try and punish me. He doesn't remark on my being slightly early as the door magically swings open, and I almost sigh with relief as I see the ingredients laid out on the bench that need prepping for the storeroom. 

This wasn't on our prediction list of what he'd have me doing, but admittedly, none of us have had detention with him as a NEWTs student yet. I guess this is somewhat a first then. 

"Miss Ellis, the spleens need shredding, foxglove needs de-petalling and correctly storing, gurdyroot crushing and the bottle of Iguana blood needs decanting and stealing. All without any magic of course, so place your wand on the desk," he adds snidely, a cruel smirk on his lips as I categories all the tasks in my mind. 

As I rack my brain for how you store foxglove petals to preserve their magic, I start roughly chopping the gurdyroot, half tempted to summon my own potions knives for it, as the student blades are dull as metal. 

Admittedly, this could be a lot worse - it's going to take a lot more than bat spleens to make me uncomfortable enough to complain. Which, by the scowl on his face as I wordlessly get on with the task, he has expected. I've worked with enough of my own ingredients for my personal supply of healing remedies, combinations of muggle medicines and magical remedies into more advanced and helpful potions, and I can hardly complain now. 

Though I still can't remember how to store these bloody petals. I know its something absurdly convoluted, and that Snape is expecting me to trip up on it, giving him an excuse to take away points from Gryffindor, or add another detention to my week. 

As I pack up the now-powdered gurdyroot, I reach out with a mental branch to Hermione, who's bound to know. 

_Hermione? I need your help,_ I start, and her presence fills my mind as I unstopper the large bottle of blood, careful not to breathe too heavily over the open lid. It doesn't appear to have gone off, so I replace the lid and summon the vials without thinking, and almost drop them as I curse my own stupidity. 

"I'm pretty sure I said no magic, Miss Ellis," Snape drawled from behind his desk, and I mumble an apology, hoping he didn't notice the wandless magic. 

_Maeve, what is it?_ Hermione responds and I explain my detention, and the foxglove petal situation, whilst I carefully decant the iguana blood into individual bottles. _Oh, that's difficult. You need to submerge the petals in a mixture of dittany and water, two drops of dittany for every pint of water, and store them on wax paper to keep the moisture in them. Oh, and Maeve, they're poisonous so try not to touch them more than necessary._

Thanking her as I finish with the blood, I feel Snape's eyes on me as I deliberately make a show of doing things the muggle way, painstakingly lining up all the bottles in a tray, only a single glance to my wand on the other desk. A subtle reminder that I'm not doing any magic. 

Returning from the storeroom with dittany (because Snape didn't think to make it easy, of course not), I note that my wand has moved, and is now on Snape's desk right in front of where he's grading some essays. As I mix the dittany with water, I tap into my connection with Cassia, to feel her getting progressively closer to sleep in the relative quiet of the Gryffindor common room, no doubt as it's a Monday night and Hermione's insisted on quiet for studying's sake. 

I waited the allotted soaking time for the petals, my mind wandering to Quidditch, and when I gently probe Harry's mind to see if he's working on something important, he's all too eager to drop the work and talk his strategy for the first match against Ravenclaw. 

He wants Seamus and I to be slightly more low-key than we were at tryouts, nothing to give the game away completely, but for me still to smash out some good hits so the Slytherins no longer have a reason to doubt me, and we can throw our victory in their smug faces. I worked on preserving the petals in wax paper, unaware of the smile creeping onto my face as the conversation with Harry progressed, and we were speculating at the members of the other teams. 

_Unfortunately, Malfoy will have got Slytherin seeker again, but they lost a few chasers last -_

"Something amusing, Miss Ellis?" Snape asks, eyes narrowed at me from across the desk, where I hadn't noticed he'd moved to.

"Am I not allowed to enjoy Potions, professor?" I respond innocently, and he scowls. Silence resumes as I continue my work, but Snape doesn't move, eyes fixed on my actions.

"You never had this much affinity for the art in previous years," he remarks, somehow not unkindly as I drain away the excess dittany dilution. 

I can't work out if he's inviting conversation as I try and keep my tone casual. "OWLs were almost too stressful to be enjoyable - there was a lot riding on that grade for me." 

He tilts his head, fractionally, questioningly. I ignore the movement the best that I can, the reason for my detention rising into my mind. I unceremoniously dump the spleens on the cutting board, meticulously shredding them and replacing them into individual jars. 

As he watches me work, eyes narrowed, I continually remind myself he's a part of the Order, and a professor, and therefore I shouldn't summon my wand and hex him. It's only when the slight headache hits me that I realise what he's doing. 

He's found all my mental shields, and is gently, almost unnoticeable, probing them, trying to figure out their extent. A malicious part of me wants to say _good luck_ but I instead, just to check my theory, send out a wave of magical energy, designed to block anyone even seeing the shields, and Snape blanches slightly. 

"Everything okay, Professor?" I ask sweetly as I stopper the final jar, setting the blunt knife down on the cutting board. I don't wait for the answer he probably will never give as I stack the finished ingredients on a tray and carry them through to the student store-room, and put them in their correct places, shifting a few bits around to make sure the alphabetisation remains correct. 

I'd hate to give him another reason to prolong this detention. 

He doesn't need more time to poke around my mind, and all it's taught me it is that I need to enforce a different type of shield, the warning kind that lets me know instantly if anyone is trying to gain access. Even with everything, I never expected him to go on a mental walk into my mind, or at least attempt to. He didn't even get past the first shield, just prodded for its weak spots. 

Snape handed me my wand as I walked out of the storeroom, and I hesitated as he dismissed me. 

"Professor, I-" I cut myself off, knowing what I wanted to ask was borderline suicidal. He looks at me with an expectant expression, and I shake my head. "I need a signature for permission to collect my sister from Gryffindor tower - it's past curfew." I couldn't possibly confront him about the mental attack - well, maybe not attack. It wasn't quite harsh enough to be an attack; maybe it was just curiosity? I guess, relative to all my peers, my mind is pretty well-shielded, so it is a potential cause of concern?

Once again reminding myself of why I was here, I push away the thoughts of redeeming the professor for his actions. Next time he tries something like this, he'll get a shock, and find something he doesn't want to. Not that I know what that is yet, but I'm going to figure it out. No one messes with me, my mind, or my sister. At least, they never get away with it unscathed. 

Snape nods curtly, holding out a sheet of parchment emblazoned with a sharp scrawl of a signature, which I summon wordlessly, keeping my distance from him. I thank him and quickly take my leave, sighing at all the stairs up to the tower, beginning my climb to retrieve my sleeping sister. 

***

When I woke, it wasn't to the bouncing of my bed around me, Cassia jumping excitedly. My ring was pulsing with uncomfortable intensity, and I groaned when Draco's name appeared. 

I rolled out of bed in anger, not needing to cast _Tempus_ to tell me it was ridiculously early. No light streamed through the window. Only when I'd made it down the stairs did I grant him access, leaning against the stone arch leading upstairs. 

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" 

The Slytherin shifted uncomfortably at a distance from me, not daring to come closer as I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and slumped posture so unlike him, my anger softens. 

"Uh, no, not really. Maeve, look, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said that to Severus, I knew he would be an arse about it. I just - in the moment, I knew we wanted to keep us a secret, and I didn't think you'd want Potter finding out that way ..." 

I crossed the room, somewhat sluggishly due to the time of the morning, and take his slightly-trembling hands in mine. 

"Hey, Draco, it's fine," I assure him, bringing back the Gryffindor forgiveness that he loves to comment on and make fun of. "You're right, I'd hate for Harry to find out in front of Snape; he could've said anything without thinking it through." 

He turns his face away slightly, and I pull him in for a hug. It's gratefully received, and I pretend not to feel him crying on my shoulder. The castle bell tolls, three times, and I roll my eyes. 

"Did you wake me up at three am, Draco?" I ask, and he moves away, guilt written in his eyes, as easy to read as a book. I take his hand and drag him upstairs, ignoring the cleaning charm he barely whispered to cast over himself. When we get into my room, he pauses in the doorway, and I collapse onto my bed. 

"C'mere," I mutter, holding out a hand to him, and he ditches his shoes, climbing under the covers beside me. "I've got two classes today, and you just woke me up before three," I whisper, lying on my side and facing him. 

His eyes fill with an unspoken apology, and I shake my head slightly, leaning over to peck a kiss on his cheek. I lean onto his shoulder, inhaling his minty citrus scent and fall back to sleep, a welcome curtain of darkness washing over me. 

***

I'm exhausted when Cassia comes bounding into my room, hesitating before she jumps on the bed as she actually notices Draco sleeping peacefully there, no traces of guilt on his face. 

His arms are wrapped around me protectively, and his chest was made my pillow. Brushing where his fringe has fallen into his eyes, I kiss him lightly before attempting to wriggle out of his arms. Trying not to wake him is fruitless, and when Cassia sees he's moving, she takes that as permission to jump into the bed, and I groan under her sudden weight. 

"Oh Merlin and Salazar, what time is it?" Draco groans, reaching for his wand. _Tempus_ says it's nearly 6 am. He groans further, turning back over on the bed and burying his face in the pillow. 

A slight giggle escapes my lips as Draco's morning personality is so unshielded compared to normal. He eyes me with bleary suspicion but evidently decides it's nothing of merit and slumps back into the pillow. 

Ushering Cassia out of the room and into the bathroom, I get her in the shower and, for once, we don't get too distracted with bubbles. But before I can dress her, she ducks around my arms and sprints out into the hallway starkers, and I sigh. 

This is how this morning is going to go. Right. 

"Cassia Margaret Ellis, you get your skinny behind back here," I call, hardly threateningly, following the wet footprints into my room, where Draco sits up to survey the scene in front of him and falls back into the pillow laughing. 

She doesn't yield, instead running in circles and jumping on furniture, and I grab my wand from my bedside table and mutter a quick spell. Cassia freezes on top of my chair, and looks down slowly, almost comically, to find herself fully dressed. 

"No fair!" she complains, and I scoop her up in my arms. 

"You have to behave yourself when we have people here," I remind her gently, and Draco raises a brow at me. Feigning innocence with a flash of a grin, I put Cassia down, and she runs out of the room, turning to go downstairs. 

I collapse back onto my bed and sigh heavily. Turning over to look at Draco, his expression is softened by sleep as his concern reaches me. He snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me closer. I take in how naturally dishevelled sleep makes him, the creases in his school uniform and the messiness of his hair. It's honestly pretty hot. We should definitely do this more often. 

"You, Maeve Ellis, are amazing," he whispers into my hair, and I feel my body relax at the compliment. "How you do this every day is beyond me." 

"I'm just that perfect," I say, sarcasm lining the words. Draco rolls his eyes playfully, and I gently slap his shoulder. "I should be getting up though; I want to finish that Arithmancy essay before breakfast." 

He wraps his arms tighter around me in protest, and I wriggle indignantly, shooting him a look. He leans down to kiss my pouting lips and I easily melt into it, tingles zapping between us. A rush of arousal runs into me, and I bite back a smirk as we pull away. 

He seems to know what he was just broadcasting and stares me down unabashedly. Sealing a connection again, the second kiss is more powerful than the first, more intense and his emotions close to overwhelming me. 

Rolling over, Draco positions himself above me, his body pressed flush to mine, forearms braced either side of my head. 

"Do you know what you do to me, Maeve?" he asked, voice low and sultry. The tone sparks a shiver running through me, transmitted into Draco at how close we are. 

"Does the Draco Malfoy have a weakness?" I ask, a slight hint of mocking in my voice. He scowls at my tone, ducking his head to engage my lips once again. I wind my hands into his hair, parting my lips as Draco gently nibbled at once, allowing his tongue to freely caress my mouth. 

A shuddery breath escapes me when he pulls back, a slight twinge of regret in his eyes. In my foggy mental state, I try and read what he's thinking but I can't get my brain to figure it out before he starts speaking. 

"Maevey, we shouldn't do this now - I mean, you said you wanted to wait, and I don't want to rush you, I mean you have class -" 

I place a finger over his lips, effectively quietening the mile-a-minute word vomit. 

"Thank you, sweetheart-" he pulls a face. "-Okay, well I'm going to keep trying," I smirk, and he climbs gracefully off me. Cassia bursts back into the room, and grabs my arm, dragging me out of bed. "Get some more sleep, love, you don't want to be falling asleep in transfiguration later." I blow him a kiss across the room, and he lifts a hand to wave as I head downstairs with Cassia. 

She's built up another fort and is eager for me to enchant the light in it to glow softly, which I do without hesitation. Settling down to do the assignment for Professor Vector is a struggle, but I eventually lose myself in it, almost forgetting about who was sleeping upstairs. 

***

After a rather tedious three hours of learning the theory of, and looking after, flobberworms in Care of Magical Creatures, I collect Cassia from my room, who's all too eager to explain that Draco sat with her basically all morning and played games with her, explaining different types of magic to her. We head to the Great Hall for lunch, and I can't help but smile at Draco's somewhat-paternal nature. 

Mind-numbing work gave me time to think during class, so far that when I sit down, Hermione eyes me suspiciously. 

"What have you been plotting?"

I make a show of widening my eyes innocently, but no one buys it, not even Ron who's barely paying attention thanks to the food on his plate. 

"Well, sexist Slytherin boys need to be taught a lesson, and since Snape won't do it, I reckon I should." A wicked grin plays on my face as Cassia reached out for the food in front of her. I try and guide her hand towards some of the healthier things, ie any vegetable, but she's having none of it. She goes so far as to ignore anything vaguely green, and I sigh a little, eating what she leaves on the plate, plus a few extra bits I get to before she does. 

I've instantly got Ginny's attention, and Hermione, battling with her persistent desire not to intentionally break the rules, finally gives in. Between the three of us, we brainstormed what we could do, what magic and joke shop tricks we could use, and Ginny, having dealt with Fred and George's pranks for years on end, had a wealth of unexpected knowledge. Hermione chipped in with the logistics side of things, and unanimously, we decided not to tell anyone else, even Harry or Ron, just for the best effect of whatever we plan to do. 

Cassia giggles at a lot of our suggestions and Hermione's neat little charm around the three of us gives our conversation the appearance of innocent chat about school but dissuades anyone else from attempting to join in. 

"It needs to be something elaborate, and humiliating for them, preferably in front of as large of an audience as possible," Ginny decides, and we both agree, Hermione interjecting that it can't be actually dangerous. After all, going after Slytherin pride is one thing; permanently altering year-mates in a biological manner is probably a step too far. 

We agree to that too, somewhat more begrudgingly, and Hermione mentions a sort of modified ward like I was using around the Quidditch pitch when Seamus and I were practising, and my lips stretch in a wide grin. 

"Hermione, you're a genius," I proclaim, and she blushes slightly. "Library after dinner? I wouldn't want to accidentally weave the runes wrong." I wink at Harry as Hermione casts _finite_ on the privacy charm, and he gives me a suspicious look. 

The plans run through my mind, possibilities near-endless, providing we can mesh the runes with a temporary ward for long enough for the Slytherins to walk through it. Draco can't be exempt, I decide for myself, and I just hope he doesn't take it too personally.

Previous generations of Gryffindor troublemakers run through my mind; first and foremost the Marauders, who, from my accidental insight into Lupin's memory in my third year, are crystal clear in my mind. Even from two or three of his fond memories of their days as legendary prankers, it warms my heart to think that their traditions haven't been lost. The map makes them immortal, even if technically no one knows who they are. 

Fred and George, coerced along by the Marauders presence in the form of the map, are high up on the list of Gryffindor legends. That firework stunt in front of Umbridge last year will be talked about for years to come. And of course, their shop in Diagon Alley doesn't exactly scream subtle. 

A little pranking on the purpose of revenge is harmless really, in comparison to what the school's endured already. One more won't hurt. 

***

McGonagall calls for me to stay behind after transfiguration, and Hermione shoots me a supportive look, promising to take Cassia and meet me at dinner in a little while. Momentarily it crosses my mind she could have heard our conversation at lunch and would try and stop us before we even know what we want to do to get back at them, but since Hermione is let go without a word, I dismiss it happily. 

"I've been informed you served detention with Professor Snape last night," she starts, offering me a seat in the office adjoining the Transfiguration classroom. "Care to explain, Miss Ellis?" 

My mind races at a mile a minute as I try and process that someone told McGonagall - I can't bring myself to think it's one of Harry, Ron or Hermione, not after I specifically told them I didn't want to make a fuss. I mean, the whole sixth-year potions class found out after our lesson, so any of them could be the culprit. 

"I threatened one of the Slytherin sixth years - Professor Snape happened to see," I say calmly, sinking into the chair opposite her desk. 

She narrows her eyes. "Miss Ellis, in the five and a bit years you've been in my house, you've never been one to avoid telling the whole story. I would hate for you to break that streak." 

I looked into my lap, fiddling with the hem of my robes. She's not the kind of woman you dare to argue with after a sentence like that; at the same time, I can't predict her reaction to my words. 

"Some of the sixth-year Slytherin boys were commenting on my tryout as a beater, blatantly insulting me about a lack of femininity in my appearance." I chose my words with the utmost care, hesitating before I continued. "I pulled my wand on Nott, and Professor Snape saw, and Malfoy explained what happened, and he ... agreed with them." I caught my voice before I could stutter, refusing to make eye contact with the woman across the desk. 

"Have a biscuit, Miss Ellis." 

The anger radiating in the room was severed by the cool calmness of McGonagall's tone, callous and unfeeling as she pushed the tin towards me. She's angry. _I_ should be angry, that Snape, a professor, commented (insultingly) about my figure. 

I just blink at her, and some the lines in her face soften as she tilts her head a little to one side. Seeing that she was deadly serious, I reach out and take a ginger snap, breaking a piece of in my fingers and popping it in my mouth. 

"I will be having words with Professor Snape, rest assured. Can I safely assume you got the position on the team?" 

I nod, a proud grin somewhat dampened by how much the Slytherins influenced my opinion of it, and myself. 

"Then I expect the same as you as I do of Mr Finnegan; I quite look forward to your first game - don't let me down, Miss Ellis," she reminded me, and warmth spread from my core, tingling in my toes. Stuffing the rest of the biscuit in my mouth, I avoid having to comment on her expectations. 

As she lets me head to dinner, her validation lightens my step. I know it shouldn't need to, and I should be able to just get on with it myself, but hearing it from an outside (if not unbiased) source just gives me that extra boost of confidence that I'm on the right track. 

"Oi, Ellis." Draco's voice bounced off the walls, and I spun around, a sceptical expression on my face. He jogged down the corridor to me, pulling me into an empty classroom. I greet him with a kiss after he locks the door, making it _alohamora_ -proof. 

Jumping back to sit on a desk, I look at him expectantly. 

"I never asked, you make your team?" he started, and I gave him a look. 

"That's top-secret information, you know," I teased him, before nodding. "Yeah, Seamus and I both did. You seeker?" 

"Yep." He popped the 'p' and hesitated. 

"Draco, whatever it is, just ask me," I tell him gently, and take his hands. 

He looks down intensely on me, eyes unreadable. "How long does this have to be a secret?" 

I breathe out a sigh. I wondered when we'd talk about this, especially considering what happened after tryouts. 

"Look, I just want time to talk to Harry, Ron and Hermione about it. And there are some things we need to talk about too, Draco." I run a hand through my hair, the movement deliberately slow, needing the time to think, to properly process all this. 

_Maevey, where are you?_

I scrunched up my face as Cassia's voice entered my head, and Draco cocked his head. 

"They're missing me in the Great Hall; I promise we'll finish this conversation later, is that okay?" For a moment, I think he'll refuse, but as his expression softens, I kiss him gently, pouring genuine emotion into the act of intimacy. 

He responds with a passion to rival my own, and it takes all of my willpower to pull away from him. 

"Come and find me after curfew?" I ask, and he nods without question. "It's a date," I wink. Casting a wordless spell to break Draco's lock, I leave him, slightly stunned at how casually I could break his spell and head to dinner. 

***


	9. Teaching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, probably at this point :)

***

Hermione, Ginny and I spent all evening in the library, right up until Madam Pince kicked us out for its closing at 9 pm. Perks of being a NEWT student is we get an extra hour on the rest of the school in the evenings. The drawback is that it doesn't leave the other two girls a lot of time to get back up to Gryffindor Tower; we parted ways quickly after, and I carried a sleeping Cassia down to the dungeons. Enchanting the books I took out to follow me wasn't strictly necessary, nor strictly abiding by the rules, but it's quite a neat trick when other things (or people) need carrying. 

There's a part of me that's glad we're not living in Gryffindor Tower, for multiple reasons, but the main one being that I don't want to put any pressure on Cassia about where her sorting will lead her. If she's a Gryffindor, she's a Gryffindor. If not, then I have no qualms with whatever house she gets put in. Gryffindor Tower is also pretty loud, and at least here I don't have so many stairs. 

My figure won't be thanking me for this any time soon, but my slightly lazy tendencies in the evenings sure will. 

I briefly adjust the wards to let Draco in if he tries, and put Cassia to bed, setting the magical mobile spinning its calming tune. She rolls over and hugs her hippogriff into her arms instinctively. Connecting our minds, I nudge happy memories into her dreams, edging out anything horrible. She giggles mentally as she noticed my presence, and I wave as she rides away from me on a hippogriff, soaring through the air. 

I withdraw gently from her mind, reminding myself startling her mentally always wakes her up, and close the door softly as I leave the room. Faint tinkles of the mobile reach my ears, even through the door, and I head downstairs, collapsing onto the sofa in front of the fire. 

Our plan for the Slytherins is pretty solid - I almost want to tell Draco in advance to warn him, but risking this plan, that is physically harmless at least, isn't something I want to do. Revenge is revenge, and whether Draco was only playing along to cover both our arses or not, he had a crucial part in it, and it would look fairly suspicious if he wasn't affected. 

Friday morning, at 4 am, Hermione and Ginny are going to sneak down here, "borrowing" Harry's invisibility cloak and the map, so that we can set up our trap. We wanted to give the boys a little bit of time to think they're in the clear, so hopefully, their guards drop just enough that they don't notice the wards we're putting up in the Slytherin half of the dungeons. 

The planned wards are only going to affect sixth-year Slytherin boys - their names will be subtly weaved into the wards using namesake runes. Theodore Nott, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini. The five of them will be in for a little shock come to breakfast-time. Hermione also insisted we test this out a little beforehand, just so we know exactly what our limits are of the control of the wards. 

With the planned wards and spells all written on a charmed sheet of paper, the same charms Hermione used to keep the DA membership list hidden last year, I check over them obsessively until I could recite them in my sleep. I stash the paper in my OWLs Care of Magical Creatures textbook - the last place anyone would look for secret plans, and even so, it only looks like blank parchment.

Ideally, I want to finish that Arithmancy essay I started this morning; I've only got a conclusion left to write. But when I sluggishly get out my textbook and essay, I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to re-read my title. 

***

I wake to slightly jostling movements, and I smile blearily before I even open my eyes, recognising the person carrying me from the mint-and-citrus scent that hangs about him. 

"Sorry, Maevey, didn't mean to wake you," he murmurs as he wordlessly casts a spell to open my door. 

"We were gonna talk," I mumble, words slightly slurring together from the fatigue of just waking up, after not nearly enough time. It's a similar sensation to what I imagine drunkenness would be - lack of full control of your actions, words blurring together, probably impaired judgement too. 

Draco shakes his head as he lies me down gently, and I grab his hand with surprising strength. He promises me he isn't going anywhere, and I watch him lazily as he removes his shoes, robes, tie and belt. Flicking my wand out from its sheath, I summon a pair of (neutrally-coloured in terms of our houses, thank Merlin) pyjamas, throwing them in his direction.

"As hot as your rumpled school uniform is, you might be more comfortable in these," I admit, and he just laughs, unbuttoning his shirt. 

I both know I should look away, and somehow can't, entranced by is movements. He blushes slightly as he watches me watch him, throwing the pyjama shirt over his toned chest. I do him the favour of looking away as he reaches for his zipper, getting easily frustrated as I fail spectacularly on the dexterity department, knotting my tie further and further as I try and undo it. 

I fall back against the pillow, entirely too annoyed, and Draco chuckles, kneeling on the bed next to me as he deftly unknots my tie, looping it off my neck. Summoning my own pyjamas, I sit up and remove my school shirt, slinging it to some corner of the room and yanking the soft silvery top over my head. Groaning comically as I have to get out of bed, I remove my skirt and tights, pulling shorts on, while Draco politely turns his back. 

"Talk tomorrow?" I ask quietly as we climb into my bed, fingers lacing under the covers. He readily agrees, and I mumble a goodnight. Draco pulls me into his chest before I fall to sleep, putting us in the same position we were in last night. 

Two nights in a row; this feels like a winning streak. One that I might be ruining this Friday, but I just hope that he sees sense and that I have as much of a reputation to uphold as he does. No one teases me and gets away with it. I'm fairly sure Harry and Ron learnt that lesson way back in our first year - it's simply Draco's turn. I don't think Hermione was ever silly enough to get on my bad side, even temporarily. 

It's always been me and Hermione, and Ron and Harry. Like best friends within a group of best friends. The kind of thing that unintentionally forms when you sleep in the same room as some, but not others. It's not a divide per se, but it's almost a slight difference in the kind of friendship you have. Hermione and I have stayed up all night in our dorm, just chatting about the most random things, a healthy sprinkling of intimacy that comes with being semi-delirious from fatigue. 

The last thing I wonder before falling asleep is if Draco and I will ever have any of those types of conversations. It's a happy thought, at least. 

***

I have to sneak out early the next morning, before Draco's awake for Quidditch practice, and I leave him a note on the pillow beside his head. I don't know if that's a muggle thing to do, or if wizards would do the same, but either way, I think it should amuse him somewhat. It's not like I'm sneaking out of _his_ bed. 

Cassia is very excited to be heading out to the pitch with me, and, on her request, I transfigure her normal robes into Gryffindor Quidditch team robes. I know I said about the Sorting pressure, but she's too adorable to refuse such a little request. 

The changing rooms are alight with life, despite the early hour. Excitement for the first official Gryffindor practice is tangible. Seamus and I are rifling through the cupboard of bats, trying to find our favourites, and the three chasers have a spare Quaffle and are lobbing it around the room. Ron intercepts a couple of the throws and pelts the ball at his sister; Ginny's laughter echoes around the room. _This truly is a team._

When Harry turns to us, we all fall silent, the Quaffle freezing in mid-air as Katie brings it gently to the floor. 

"This is my first year on the team without Oliver Wood, and honestly, long speeches were his thing," Harry admits, surveying each of us. "I have no doubts we can bring the cup home to us this season, but it's going to require a lot of work, dedication, and early mornings, unfortunately," Harry added as Ron sighed. 

"Now, of course, other teams are going to figure out who's on this one; I don't want any showing off during any free time of what we're working on, even to other Gryffindors. All it takes is for Slytherin to catch wind of what we're planning, and they can figure out a perfect counter to it." 

"Now," he says, turning to Seamus and me. "Hooch has given the teams permissions to use only one bludger and not the match ones of course. But it's better than what we worked with last year, so we can make do. Let's get out onto the pitch, I want three warm-up laps in formation," Harry instructs, and I smirk slightly as he blushes at everyone's attention. 

I settle Cassia in the stands, shields and warming charms equipped and plenty of dolls for her entertainment, and take off, speeding up to find my place in the formation. We work a lot on team unison and Harry briefly explains some of the communications he wants us to have across the field, things the other team won't necessarily understand. 

I have to say, this team is looking pretty good already - a lot of us are sixth- or seventh-years who've had a fair amount of practice, and then there's Ginny too, who everyone knows is a crack player, both as Seeker and Chaser. 

Practice lasts an hour and a half, by the end of which everyone's focus is slipping a bit. Everyone talks strategy as we walk down to the changing rooms, and I head off to grab Cassia from the stands. She managed to fall back to sleep under the warm bubble, and I woke her up gently by tickling her. 

She laughed a lot as I took the spells down, the excitement of even the simplest magic not lost on her. I guess it's the same feeling any six-year-old would have, but on Cassia, it's massively endearing. 

The conversation has switched to the DA by the time I reach the changing room with Cassia.

"You going to come tonight, Maeve?" Ginny asked as I walked in, instantly shedding the outer scarlet robes. 

"Um, maybe," I glance down at Cassia, who's buried herself under my robes. "I don't want to leave Cass alone all evening, not when I will have been gone all day," I explain, and Ginny smiles in understanding. They go on talking about the plans for this evening's session - Harry wants to put it to a vote with the members for if we want to branch out into other subjects since we now have a clearly-competent Defence professor. 

Everyone here seems to be in favour of the change, and though it's going to make it more difficult to manage and teach, I reckon it's a good idea too. Especially if we can get transfiguration passed everyone - Minerva has impossibly high standards for her students, and extra practice hurts no one, not even Hermione. 

"Are you sure you can't come, Maeve?" Harry asked as chatter ceased and people started heading off to breakfast. "I could use your help," he added as I rolled my eyes. 

"You've got 'Mione there, you'll be fine."

"Well, we're doing shield charms, and you're great, even wordless or wa-"

 _You stop right there,_ I broke into his mind, and his words abruptly cut off, earning a sharp look from Ginny. She glanced cautiously between us before heading out with a quick goodbye. 

"Sorry Maeve, I didn't think," Harry said as soon as the door closed behind Ginny and they were alone. Bar Cassia, but that is to be expected at this point. 

Shaking my hair out of its bun, I sigh. 

"I know, I know." I sit down heavily on the bench, busying my hands folding up my Quidditch robes. "I want to be a part of the DA, I really do, but I only have so much time, and Cassia as to be my priority, you know that," I remind him, and he takes a seat beside me. 

Exhaustion lines his movements, and I can't tell if it's from the hour-and-a-half Quidditch practice or something more. I tilt my head as I look at him, and he takes my hand. There's something he's not telling, I know it. We should talk about that - I seem to be collecting a list of people I need to talk to about personal things. 

I guess it's a side effect of living in separate rooms; I'm rarely in the Gryffindor common room of an evening, and if I am, it's before curfew, and before Cassia gets too tired. Figuring out how to be here for my friends, and be a full-time guardian of Cassia is much more difficult than I ever anticipated. 

But, sneaking around trying to see Draco would be near-impossible if I lived in Gryffindor Tower, and I'm not convinced it would have ever happened if he hadn't managed to catch me alone. It's all swings and roundabouts I guess. 

"Bring Cassia with you; you kept up a shield around her during practice, I'm sure you can do it again." Harry gave off a false sense of confidence, and when Cassia jumped off the bench, demanding breakfast, his expression slipped slightly when he thought I'd looked away. 

_Stupid boys and their macho acts_ , I grumble internally as we head for the Great Hall, and Cassia keeps us both entertained, mostly comments about other student's auras. Cassia finds Luna's aura particularly interesting, and when I look too, it's one of the most complicated auras I've ever come across. 

There's something more to her too; something that came to light when Ginny appeared in Luna's line of sight. I'm sure Cassia didn't understand it, but I know what I'm seeing. It's a signpost reading "More than friends", and if they're both happy, I'm here for it. 

I wonder if anyone else has figured it out. Somehow I doubt it - Ron's bound to have some choice comments for his little sister, but he'll get over himself eventually. He always does, usually with a fair amount of coaxing from Hermione's voice of reason. When he and Hermione fight, it takes three times as long for things to go back to normal.

Draco isn't in the Great Hall when Harry, Cassia and I head to the Gryffindor table. I gently probe the wards in my quarters and suppress a laugh to see that Draco's still asleep. We both have Runes in less than half an hour and he's still fast asleep. 

Sending sparks of magic through wards on the other side of the castle isn't exactly a foolproof plan, but it's the most unnoticeable one. The wards tremble slightly under the pressure I'm putting on them - I didn't design them for this, that's for sure. 

Supporting the wards is more taxing than I expected it to be, but there's a sense of pure power about it - holding up magic _I_ put in place gives me a slight disadvantage. Since I know how they were all formed, it's difficult not to spiral down into their power more than necessary. There are no barriers stopping me from reaching right down to the centre of their power, which of course, is only amplified by being within the ancient Hogwarts wards themselves. 

My body drains of power as I exert myself, clawing my way back out of the depths of the power and I endeavour not let them crash completely. Draco wakes fairly quickly and is sent into panic-mode as he realises the time. I take that as my cue to drop the wards in their normal places and give him some privacy to get ready. 

Cassia holds up a piece of toast to me as I drop back into my own mind. I murmur my thanks, realising how hungry I actually am. Replenishing magical energy requires sustenance, and I think I eat more than I ever have for breakfast, brushing off Harry's odd look with the excuse of Quidditch making me hungry. Ron's firmly on my side for that, at least. 

Harry offers to look after Cassia whilst I'm in class, and Cassia agrees for me, bouncing up and down uncomfortably on my lap. I know he's doing this so I'll come to the DA meeting with less guilt, and to be honest, I might just take him up on that. 

***

My free time today evaporated. Between classes, mealtimes, and now being shepherded to the room of requirement for the DA meeting I agreed to attend, I've had absolutely no time to seek Draco out as I wanted to.

Harry paces in front of the room, and a door appears as normal. Technically, since we're a legitimate club this year, we don't need a secret room, but it's a nice reminder of how this started, and how many people we clearly have on our side, Slytherins very much included. 

Most people come straight from dinner, and I create a mobile shield around Cassia that lets her run around to her heart's content but will come into power if any spells head her way. I watch her fondly as she runs circles around Ginny and Luna and a few other fifth-years of varied houses. 

"Yo, Maeve, you listening?" Harry asked, waving his hand in front of my face. Shooting him a guilty smile, he repeats himself. "Do you reckon some of them could work on wordless shields if you helped them?" 

"I mean, probably, but I'd just start off making sure they're fully happy with worded shields. I'm sure lots of them will be, but it's best to be sure. Wordless casting can be tricky if you're not 100% focused," I explain, and Hermione agrees. It strikes me that I don't know where my friends fall on the wordless-magic-ability scale, and judging by Ron's avoidance of my eyes, I'd say he's not too confident. 

Harry calls the attention of the group, explaining the aims of today's session. It's well-received overall, and I lean against the wall, watching as people pair up. Harry and Hermione demonstrate

"Will you go around helping out?" Harry asked me once the noise in the room had grown, spells flying and shields beginning to form. I nod, and he heads to the opposite side of the room, ducking under a hex that had misses its intended target. 

The first person I come to is Neville, who despite not having the best reputation for his magical ability, is one of the most determined and best wizards in our year. I slide my own wand into my hand as my reminder not to flaunt wandless magic, and watch as him, Seamus and Dean take turns firing spells at each other. 

When Neville is hit with both Seamus and Dean's jinxes sequentially, I stop them, countering the Jelly-Legs jinx that has Neville on the floor. 

"Mind if I cut in?" I ask, and hold my hand out to Neville. He gratefully accepts it and gets to his feet. "The shield is about predicting what's coming at you - Seamus, will you try and stun me?" 

Seamus rolls his eyes at me and lifts his wand. Shield charms have become second nature to me, and I can usually keep them up without even thinking about it, though that is a slightly modified version of the charm. 

"Stupefy!"

I whip my wand through the air so quickly I don't have the time to pretend it wasn't a wordless charm. Dean whistles, impressed. 

"It's about visualising what the spell is you're trying to counter - if their casting with words, it's much easier to predict what's coming and you have longer to think," I explain, and Neville gives me an understanding look. 

"Try again, maybe go back to fun jinxes," I instruct, and I step back, watching again as Dean hurls a _Tarantallegra_ at Neville, who shouts _Protego_ , and though it's not a full shield, it absorbs the majority of the impact of the jinx, and Neville is able to counter the mild force of the jinx himself.

I congratulate him, and move off around the room, stopping to give a few Slytherin fourth-years some pointers, who are moving their wands in the wrong move and are bound to cause an accident. None of them looks too pleased to be corrected by a Gryffindor, but they take on the criticism without a direct comment to me. I pointedly ignore the mutterings as I walk away. 

Cassia's still running in between pairs, and her portable shield is holding up well, and I watch as a rogue spell bounced off her, about a foot away from her, and the caster - Pavarti Patel, blinks in confusion. When she catches me looking, her expression turns apologetic and slightly afraid. 

"Don't worry about it - she's got a shield around her I'm keeping up. I hardly expect there to be no rogue spells in here," I explain, and she looks impressed. 

"You're wordlessly keeping a portable shield up around your sister whilst not really concentrating on it?" she confirms in disbelief, garnering the attention of some of the pairs around us. I nod, nonchalantly. 

"Shit, Maeve, I didn't realise you were that good at this," Lavender comments and Harry calls our attention back, effectively helping me to not have to come up with a reply. 

"I know some of you are pretty good at these already," Harry started, and I rolled my eyes. Right, so wordless magic is coming out now. "So to make this a bit more of a challenge, I want to try some wordless shields, but I'm hardly the expert, so I'm going to have Maeve explain it to you all." 

All eyes turned expectantly to me as I made my way to the front of the room. 

"Wordless magic is all about visualising it, knowing the exact effect of what you want to happen and picturing it in your mind. It's not something you master in one evening, but with any spell, you just have to repeat the words in your mind over and over," I explain, stumbling for more words. For me, it just feels intuitive. There's no other way to explain it. "It's going to take time, more time than just mastering a new spell," I warn them as excited looks begin to blossom on people's faces. 

"You need to be a hundred percent confident with your worded shield, but once you are, it can be a really useful skill in a duel, with any spell really."

Ginny calls for a demonstration and Harry steps away from the wall, wand in hand. I adjust the grip I have on my own, reminding myself to use it. That would be difficult to explain away in front of all these people.

Harry raised his wand, eyes questioning, and I give him a confident smile. He doesn't hesitate after that, perfectly calmly casting a _Stupefy_ at me. Faster than he can see, I cast my wordless shield, adding an extra wordless _stupefy_ to hopefully get my point across to everyone. Harry doesn't see it coming, not managing to get his shield up in time to just about deflect the spell. 

He flies backwards as the white spell hits his chest, and I cushion his fall with another wordles charm. 

"That's how useful wordless spells are guys," I call over the laughter as Hermione _ennervates_ Harry. 

He rolls his eyes at me. "Thanks for that, Maeve. Really appreciate it."

I give him a cheeky smile as he sends everyone off to continue working, and I ruffle his already-messy hair. 

"I'm not going to fall for that one again, I can promise you that," Harry assures me, and I honestly believe him. I catch sight of Cassia, who's clinging determinedly to Ginny, and head over, casting a _Tempus_ , which tells me we've been in here quite a while, and that chances are that Cassia's managed to tired herself out. 

When Cassia sees me, she lets go of Ginny, and the redhead turns to give me a grateful look. I pick up my sister, removing the shielding charm around her. She's happy to stay in my arms as I continue around the room, taking note of where people are at, and handing out pointers where necessary. 

No fights have broken out by the time Harry calls us to a close, mentioning the possibility of branching out into different subject's magic. It's mostly well-met, seeing as everyone agrees that Tonks is a much better professor than Umbridge, the Slytherins included. Though, practising Defence is definitely the most fun. 

For whatever reason, Cassia's determined to stay awake well into this evening. It's 8 pm, and if this were a normal day, I'd be putting her to bed by now. Though, with the excitement of this evening, I can hardly be that surprised. 

Harry, Ron, Hermione and I stay in the room after everyone else departs, and Hermione conjures sofas for us in front of the fire. 

Intentionally, I steer the conversation away from Quidditch when Ron mentions off-hand about our next practice, and towards wordless magic. Hermione is eager to talk about the theory of it, and since neither Ron nor Harry are all that interested, they start taking it in turns to try and levitate different objects wordlessly. 

As the intensity of the room had calmed, so did Cassia, and it wasn't long before she was falling asleep in my lap. I watch as Hermione levitates a book wordlessly, easily enough - she's definitely done this before then. Not sure why I'm surprised. 

Harry and Ron are having more difficulty; neither of their objects moves at all. 

"I told you it was practice, didn't I?" I remind them as Ron's temper is beginning to rise. "It took me ages to get it at first." 

"Show us again," Ron demanded, his patience wearing his manner a little thin. I don't comment on it, though Hermione looks like she wants to. That's not an argument I want to happen right now. I grab my wand and levitate the book, and Harry gives me a look. 

He knows I don't need to use my wand for this, right now. He's seen me do much more endlessly and the thought flies across my mind, questioning why I'm keeping it a secret from Ron and Hermione. It's hardly like they're going to broadcast it to the whole school. 

In that moment, I've made up my mind. 

"If it's not too much to handle, I've got something else to show you too."

***


	10. Revenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Explicit Language

***

I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm avoiding Draco, but as the prank is nearing, I can feel myself subconsciously pulling away from him. On both Wednesday and Thursday night, I sent him back to his own common room, claiming him never sleeping in his room would be too suspicious to his dorm-mates, who already are asking questions about who the girl is. 

On Friday, I'll catch him after Defence, _if he's willing to talk to me_ , and finish the conversation we've both been studiously ignoring. Quite literally, since we've been doing homework in my little common room for the past two evenings with relatively few distractions. 

Draco's been amazing enough not to press me about it, though I can tell it's on his mind. Me attempting to reassure him at this point wouldn't do a lot of good. It's best that I'm just patient, and wait it out. But in only two days, I already feel the absence of our intimacy, and I miss it.

Early Friday morning, a magical alarm rouses me, and I get up and dressed, pulling on my robes in a muted excitement. This is, providing it works, going to be hilarious, and they deserve it, but Draco doesn't. If only we could get it to work on Snape too ... 

I drop my wand in excitement. Hermione's bound to disapprove, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her. And anyway, I reckon Ginny would be on my side, though I think I'll leave it as a surprise. With how complex Snape's wards are already, I doubt he'd notice if I made a couple of tiny tweaks. And as long as I don't leave my magical signature on it, it'll be fine. 

Besides, I think it would be worth spending my evenings in detention until I graduate. Since it's not Quidditch-related, I doubt they can throw me off the team for it - or can they? 

I begin hatching a second phase to the plan, involving manipulating the magical signatures of everyone who enters the Potions classroom to have a trace on the new wards for Snape. I'm going to vanish the wards as soon as they are walked through, hiding under the cloak, so the only issue will arise if he sees them before walking through them. And, if he does, then I can vanish them immediately and he will be none the wiser. 

It's about as foolproof as I can make it. 

I let up my own wards as they announce the two Gryffindors, who come in under the cloak. It's good to know the wards can see through the cloak, now I think about it. They reveal themselves dramatically, and we all fall about giggling. 

"Okay ladies, this morning is about revenge," I start seriously, summoning the paper before I burst out laughing at how much this sounds like a battle plan. 

"Did you tell Colin to bring his camera to breakfast tomorrow?" I ask Ginny, and she nods. 

"He asked why, and I just said it will make some cracking photos, and he swore secrecy." Good good. 

"They've spent too long calling me a slut, and a man at the same time; I want to turn the tables on them and make them all regret messing with me." It's almost like a battle speech, and Hermione checks over the runes we need one final time before we head out. Hermione's learnt this neat little trick of entirely masking herself, and effectively making herself invisible without the need of the cloak, so Ginny and I huddle under it together, creeping along the corridor towards the Slytherin common room. 

It's still very early, before five in the morning, and there's no one around when Ginny and I take the cloak off so we can work more effectively. 

For both the other girls, it's their first time working with warding magic, so I check carefully what they're doing as they do it, temporarily checking that my ward around the Great Hall is still there, and still intact. It is, and I'm more glad than ever that I warded the whole hall, so that when Snape enters through the professor's door, he is still subjected to the same change. 

That's the thing about these wards. The first ones, these ones in the dungeons, are useless until the person who walked through them walks through another set. It's ingenious and was Hermione's idea, so the Slytherins wouldn't see, and then never go into the Hall. 

I leave Hermione and Ginny to weave in the naming runes as I extract the magical signatures leftover from the Potions classroom and implant them into the wards, carefully leaving just enough of Ginny's, Hermione's and mine so it's not suspicious. 

"'Mione, can you hide Ginny back up to the tower?" I whisper, and Hermione nods, and I, with a smothered giggle, bid the girls farewell. I throw the cloak over myself, stepping back to admire the wards. They are invisible to everyone but me, who has to be able to vanish them. Vanishing them without knowing exactly where they are would prove a difficult task. 

I reach Snape's private quarters, and the complexity of his wards is immense. Not that I expected any different. I can't even attempt to tamper with them; I'm sure I'd trip some sort of ward immediately, letting him know someone was meddling. 

Instead, I create a ward just the other side of where his finish, and weave all the same runes back into it, replacing the names of the sixth-years with his name. I mask the ward with the magical signature of every Potions student he teaches. Let him try and prove it was me - I don't think he would be able to with all these students. 

Obviously, he would suspect me, but proving it is a different matter, and he can't. 

Once I'm satisfied with the wards, I weave in an extra alert, to tell me, and only me, when he walks through them, or if he stops suspiciously in front of them. I can't very well stand in the corridor for the next three hours. That's not practical on any level. 

I quickly go back to the other ward, and add the same feature, and the wards take well to the change. The magic can, according to Hermione's research, reject certain overlaps of features, but this one hasn't done that at all. It's all gelled together nicely. Almost as if the magic knows the named people deserve what's coming to them. 

Returning to my room, I see Cassia is still asleep, and debate heading back to bed myself, but I'm far too riled up to sleep at this point. Plus, I need to be alert for when these wards are walked through. 

I bring out my Potions homework, smiling wryly at the irony of doing work for Snape right now. Cassia's up before I've finished the essay, and she's demanding attention, which I gladly give. Snape's work doesn't need my attention right now, and I shove it to the back of my mind ... 

Oh fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Snape's great with Occulumency. Ginny and Hermione might not be so great. 

_Hermione!_ I shout into her mind, and I feel her jolt awake. _You and Ginny need to protect your minds - Snape might read them and find out who did this to his Slytherins._

Hermione's horror is evident in her mind, as she launches into a panic. _How? Maeve, how do I do that? God, I don't want to be kicked out. I need my NEWTs. This is crazily important, how did you talk me into this?_

 _'Mione, I can help protect your mind if you'll let me,_ I interrupt her panic, and she instantly agrees. I first instruct her to go and find Ginny, so that I don't freak her out too much. I'm not sure if reaching across the whole castle is smart but I need to get to Ginny before Snape even has a chance. 

Maybe if I go via Hermione? Since I've already got a link with Hermione? Does Legilimency magic work like that? I doubt it does conventionally, but my skill isn't all that commonplace. It's worth a shot, regardless. 

_Maevey, we're both in the common room, can you do this?_ Hermione asks, worry creasing her mental voice. I send Hermione a sharp nod before settling into our connection. 

Hermione's mind is somewhat chaotic at the moment, and I take the time to settle her thoughts out without delving into her mind too far. Ginny feels far away from Hermione, too far. 

_Hermione, can you and Ginny get closer together? Holding hands would help ground me to you two,_ I add, and I feel Ginny's presence grow. 

Making the bridge is difficult, but possible, and tendrils of my already-slightly-weak magic enter Ginny's mind, finding a place to temporarily settle. 

_Hiya there,_ I say cheerfully to Ginny, who's discomfort seeps back into me with ease. _I'll make this quick,_ I promise her, and I take all the memories and associations with this prank and shield them as heavily as I dare in her mind - not an Obliviate, but enough that even I would have trouble getting into them. And I'm good at this. 

Building the shields is somewhat risky, but shouldn't have a lasting effect on Ginny's mind, only if they all dropped suddenly, and she'd be overwhelmed slightly with these locked-up memories. 

I edge gently out of Ginny's mind, not leaving the same "door" I did with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Ginny was deeply uncomfortable with my intrusion, and I don't blame her. Having someone else in your mind is strange if you're not used to it. I acclimatised quickly with Cassia, and it was a constant presence too, which helped. 

It's noticeably easier with Hermione, since we already had the connection, and I lock away the plans we made, as well as the slightly-suspicious knowledge of the Slytherin boys' names in runes. 

_Right, see you at breakfast._ I break off my connection with Hermione, and check how well protected Cassia's mind is too. Just in case. She's definitely heard about our plans - how much she remembers is a different story, but just to be on the safe side. With her, I just remove the memories she does have - putting shields that intense in a small child's mind is too much of a risk. With Ginny and Hermione, they both have a good grasp of control and magic themselves, so the risk isn't as great. 

It's at least two hours, nearly breakfast, when Snape's ward is tripped. He walked right through it. Excitement bubbles through me as I vanish the wards from outside his quarters. I think he had rounds in the Slytherin common room on Fridays - he's usually late to breakfast, or at least, he has been in past years. It's been a subject of much debate on the Gryffindor table over the years as to where he sneaks off to on Friday mornings. 

Cassia and I leave our quarters not long after, heading up to breakfast ourselves, and when we're halfway there, the sixth-years, all of them together, trip their ward, none of them hesitating. I vanish that ward too. Quickening our pace so we reach the hall earlier than Snape or the sixth-years, I quickly check in with the ward around the hall, which is going to fall once all six of them are through it. 

I can barely contain my excitement as I sit down, and Harry gives me a strange look as I'm practically bouncing in my seat. I drink herbal tea with my breakfast, soothing my fraying nerves about the success of this plan. 

They weren't that far behind me, they should be arriving any second. I'm not exactly sure when Snape will get here, but I'm hoping after the sixth-years. Where are they?

Silence washes over the hall as I feel the ward surrounding the Hall breached. Then the laughter starts, and I look up from my mug at the entrance. Snorts of laughter escape me, and pumpkin juice shoots out of Ron's nose. 

The five Slytherin sixth-years have been turned into magical drag queens, and it's amazing. 

Nott, who has the misfortune of being the centre of my anger, is wearing six-inch stiletto knee-high boots, a gold miniskirt and matching crop top, and dramatic make-up. Eyelashes curling into his eyebrows, thick, glittery winged eyeliner, and his hair is a gold-and-red mishmash of waist-length curls. 

Zabini looks almost hot in his royal blue minidress, accentuating blue eyeliner and blue-and-black streaked, chin-length wig of straight hair. 

I did what I could with Draco, leaving him in Slytherin colours as a meagre peace offering, since his outfit includes high heels with snake-like lacey tights, denim short-shorts and a crop top emblazoned in silvery glowing gems, forming the words "hiss hiss, bitches". His face had a dramatic green glittery contour that fits in with the outfit as a whole, though his expression somewhat breaks that image. He is thoroughly unamused, and I have the tiniest suspicion he already knows this was me. 

Crabbe and Goyle had been difficult ones to work out what to do with, so I gave them matching outfits, in every sense but their colour, tiny miniskirts, fishnet stockings, large ornaments in their unnaturally-coloured hair. Goyle is pink, and Crabbe is baby blue. 

They all look livid, and try and flee the room immediately, but, as my spell intended, the doors of the Great Hall had closed behind them. Colin was snapping as many photos as he could get, and I had a feeling all of the sixth- and seventh-years who had heard of pensieves, were about to get their first memory in a bottle. 

"Work it, gurl," a voice calls out from somewhere on the Hufflepuff table, and another round of laughter goes up. Surly expressions intensify as neither Crabbe nor Goyle can open the magical doors by brute strength - I put them on a timer, so everyone could take in the full effect of our Slytherin Drag Queens. 

"Oh shit," Harry interrupts our staring at them, and we turn to where he's staring, to see Professor Snape, livid at the front of the Great Hall, dressed in the same clothes that Neville used on his boggart in third-year. That stuffed-vulture hat is identical to how I remember it being, and the obnoxious red handbag had already been thrown to the floor. 

The green snakeskin outfit is ... fitting to the professor's house, but not exactly something he would wear. Who am I kidding? Has anyone ever seen Snape is anything that isn't black teaching robes? 

A glance at Dumbledore shows he's loving this, the twinkle in his eye dramatic enough for me to recognise it from here. Snape's eyes zero in on me, and I drop the ward early, and the doors swing open. The six Slytherins flee the hall, Nott tripping over in his heels as he attempted to run, resulting in some even more entertaining photographs for Colin. 

The level of chatter in the Hall after their dramatic departure is at least thrice its normal volume, and Harry looks at me with a clear message. _Well done._

I merely raise a single brow at him, neither confirming nor denying and turn back to my breakfast as everyone around begins to speculate on who could have pulled such a prank that professor Snape fell for it? Ron talks of owling Fred and George immediately, and I suggest sending a few copies of some of Colin's photos for the full effect. 

I get the feeling productivity in class might be minimal this morning, but Tonks has promised our defence class a lesson on duelling, which gives the Slytherin members of the class a decent chance at attacking me. 

The professors at the high table have to shepherd students out of the hall when the food vanishes - everyone's too engrossed in conversation to much care about lessons. McGonagall is doing her best to keep a stern face for the sake of the younger years, but by the time she reaches our end of the hall, she's starting to lose it herself. 

What a great Friday morning.

***

Tonks in our lesson has decided to change her plan slightly. Since the events of this morning, she's deemed it important to teach us about wards, and how to recognise them. I'm careful not to show too much knowledge, and Hermione answers all the questions because no one is going to doubt she read ahead to that section of our NEWT textbook. 

And she did, just with the intent of pulling a prank, not with the intent of getting ahead in class. 

Also, she's not exactly a suspect for pulling a prank, is she? Goody-two-shoes Granger doesn't break the rules. Hermione does, but her academic persona definitely doesn't. 

Never. 

Sure. 

The NEWT syllabus doesn't explicitly say students should be able to weave runes into wards, nor cast complicated layered wards, and when Tonks switches us to practical work, we do the basics. Creating a defending ward against the wall - I deliberately make sure I'm not the first one to complete it. Hermione does the same, and it's actually Hannah Abbott who completes the task first.

I follow soon after Hermione and cast my eyes around the room. Defence is the most popular NEWT class, despite the track record of professors, and I'd guess that about three-quarters of our year group is in this class. I suppress a smirk when I look at the Slytherin boys, who are back in their normal clothes, and have removed the magical make-up to the best of their ability, but there are still trace amounts of glitter. 

Draco somehow managed to make the green glitter look like it's supposed to be there, and he's quick to make his ward work. He catches my eye, and his expression is completely indecipherable. I want to mouth for him to meet me, but his head turns before I can even make the first word. 

I deserve that. 

When Tonks is satisfied with the wards we're both producing and recognising, she summons a leaderboard of sorts, with all our pictures in no particular order. The points column is empty, and the rankings all say number one. 

"My points system is not something you want to question - and don't even think about trying to cheat, or change the board, because it won't work and you'll be kicked out of the tournament," she warns us, and the four of us exchange looks. This sounds like we're taking this very seriously, and I thought this was going to be just for fun.

Tonks clarifies, after Hermione's question, that this will make no difference to our result at the end of the year, but that there will be a duelling section in that exam, so this is all good practice. For class, and for the real world too. 

The bell for the end of class goes before we can get onto any actual duels - Tonks was just teaching us the principles of duelling, and some easy-ish spells we should be able to use. I'm torn between heading after Draco, who splits off on his own towards the library, and picking up Cassia to go to lunch. 

In the end, I try my best to put Draco out of my mind, and take Cassia to lunch. Amusingly enough, none of the six Slytherins who fell to my prank appear at the meal. Snape's absence, his chair empty at the high table, is the cause for many rumours to spring up, particularly among the younger years who would never dare make these comments about him if he were sitting right there. 

I decline Harry and Ron's offer to go out and play Quidditch, and Hermione disappears off to History of Magic, somehow managing to be excited about that class still. I know the content is supposedly more interesting this year, but honestly? Binns isn't the one to teach it - if I want to know, I'll borrow a book from the library. 

Speaking of, I've got all those books about wards in my room. Shit. That's somewhat of a give-away. 

I return the books to the library, formulating a mental excuse if there are any questions. Anyone can see I've warded around my quarters, and no one is going to question that I was doing some extra reading on the subject so that I didn't get it wrong. Right? That's what I'm hoping for anyway. 

Madam Pince doesn't say a word as she takes in my returned books, and I take out another few from the relatively-small section on magical childcare. I don't stay in the library any longer than I have to, though, and I'm eager to keep Cassia entertained in as many silly ways as she desires. With how hectic my school life has got in the past week, with Quidditch, and detentions, and pranks, and the DA, I feel like I haven't spent nearly enough time with her. 

She requests painting, and I conjure as many sheets as I can to cover the surfaces - still stuck thinking in a semi-Muggle way then - before allowing her to bring the paints downstairs. Magically or non-magically, acrylic paint is a bitch to clean. 

Draco doesn't appear at all during the afternoon, and dinner comes and goes without so much of a hint of the blond. None of the Slytherin Six appear, save Snape, who appears to have been coerced here by various other members of staff, and is glaring determinedly at everyone who dares so much as glance at him. 

I briefly wonder if they are plotting for some sort of revenge, and I make my mind up to be a little extra vigilant for the next few weeks. It's can't hurt, at the end of the day. 

I'd resigned myself to not seeing him at all today on my way back to my quarters after dinner, only to grab the cloak, since I really should return it to Harry, when I see Draco leaning outside my portrait entrance. His face is blank, with trace amounts of glitter still visible in the dim light of the dungeons. 

Inside, Cassia goes back to her painting by the fire, and I remove the stasis charm over the open tubes of paint. 

"Draco," I start hesitantly, as I watch him pace over every inch of exposed flooring. Silence stretches uncomfortably between us but I don't try and push him to speak before he's ready. This conversation is fully under his control, even if it's killing me to keep my mouth shut. 

"I don't know whether to be mad at you, or severely impressed," he says finally, and I choke down a sudden sob of relief. "How the hell did you get Severus to fall for it?" 

"Magic," I smirk, and he rolls his eyes at me. I glance over at Cassia who is watching us over her picture. "Can we head upstairs?" 

Draco readily agrees as he notices my apprehension of Cassia's involvement in this conversation. Going into my room, I genuinely can't believe I'm about to have this conversation, with a Malfoy no less. 

I shut the door, reinforcing the privacy wards slightly so Cassia won't be able to eavesdrop, which, if I know my sister, she's trying to do already. 

"Look, Draco, I'm sorry I've been distant, and I know we mentioned that there were things for us to talk about-"

"You mean, you said there were. You've left me in the dark here, Maeve," he points out, and I nod. 

"I had to - it's about Cassia's safety." His eyes widen in concern, and I bite my lip. "You know I said I wouldn't have Cassia living with muggles? Well, she was living with my Aunt Hannah, and she's a squib, not technically a muggle," I explain, and Draco sits back on my bed, rubbing his forehead in confusion. 

"I thought you were muggle-born?" 

"That was intentional," I confess, and I can tell I'm making no sense from his point of view. "My family were attacked by death eaters, and I was the only one who made it out of that building alive. Cassia had been with Aunt Hannah the whole time, and wasn't on the death eater's radar." 

I swallow my fear heavily, as I continue. "My mother had put all sorts of spells on me to stop anyone but my blood from seeing me, and it took the Ministry weeks to break them. Half the Aurors were convinced I wasn't real, but Shacklebolt was the one to eventually break it."

I can feel myself starting to cry as I relay the story, the one I've kept so closely guarded for years. But, telling Draco feels like the right thing to do - there's no way I can let this get any further without explaining who I am. 

Shakily, I manage to summon the photograph from downstairs, the same one that I'd slammed down previously to stop Draco from seeing it. I hand the frame to him, and he studies it, glancing back up at me. 

"These are ... your parents?" he confirms, and I nod. 

"You're a Walters." There was no question in his tone, and I hesitate before nodding.

"Yet you use the name Ellis, and let the whole school think you were muggle-born?" he asked, disbelief evident. I nod again, a small smile stretching over my lips as I stare at the photograph. "Shit, Maeve," he sighed before his expression faltered. "You are actually called Maeve, right?"

I laugh slightly before nodding. "I couldn't part with Maeve, but leaving Walters behind was for my own safety. Someone at the Ministry set me up with the name Ellis."

He nods swiftly, and I sigh in relief. His expression turns cold as he remembers the situation, and I sigh. Might as well break it all, or at least almost all of it, to him now. Plus, it puts him on an almost-level playing field with Ron, Harry and Hermione, which has to be a good thing. 

_Draco, you must have heard the rumours about my family._ Speaking directly into his mind freaks him out, as I knew it would, and I grab his hand

"Rumours are one thing, Maeve, it being true is another." Draco's attitude was softening slightly, the indignation of being deceived fading and I continue aloud.

"Well, some of it at least was true. My mother was one of the most skilled Legilimens of her generation, and her gifts were passed down to me. I can get past basically any shields people put there - but I don't," I assure him quickly as his eyes snap to mine. 

He stays silent for a long while, and I let my body faded into stillness, giving him time to process everything I've just said. Because it's a lot. 

Muggleborn Maeve Ellis just became Pureblood Maeve Walters, the second-to-last one of her family line, and potentially the most skilled Legilimens of her generation. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone would like to create fan art for the Slytherins in drag, that would be much appreciated and I'd love to see it :)


	11. Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Smut (finally :) ), swearing

***

Draco didn't speak for almost an hour. I didn't press him to either, only quietly excusing myself when it was Cassia's bedtime. Cassia commented on how quiet I was, and by the time I was tucking her into bed, I'd convinced myself Draco was beyond angry. 

I couldn't quite stop the tears from flowing when Cassia, in her most innocent voice, asked me what had happened. Unable to form the right words to reassure her, I just knelt down by her bed, lips twitching as I tried to smile. 

My little sister climbed into my lap, hugging me fiercely and I choked out at laugh at her protecting me. 

"I'm sorry, baby," I manage to say, and she looks up at me, rocking herself in my lap. "I think I've just messed something up with Draco, and I don't know what to say to him," I whisper into her hair, closing my eyes. 

"You did no such thing." My eyes snap to Draco figure, leaning against the door with a sad expression on his face. "Cassia, do you mind if I borrow Maevey for a while?" I bite my lip as I hold back the remark about him being adorable enough to ask her for permission. 

Cassia agrees, climbing back into bed, and Draco offers me his hand. 

"Draco?" Cassia calls as we're almost out the room. He turns back to look at her. "Look after her," she warns him, and Draco nods in all seriousness, before closing the door behind us. I try and pull away from him as soon as Cassia can't see, attempting to hide my crying. Draco's having none of it as he leads me downstairs, and I don't have the strength to be any more forceful. 

I take a tentative seat on the sofa, staring into the fire as I wipe my eyes. The armchair on my left creaks as Draco sits. 

"Maeve, you haven't messed anything up," he starts softly, and I can't bring myself to look at him. "As far as I'm concerned, Maeve Ellis or Maeve Walters, you're still the same girl who forgave me despite five years of my being an arsehole." My lips twitch slightly, but my gaze doesn't stray. 

The armchair creaks again, and Draco comes into my line of sight, kneeling in front of me and clasping my hands in his. Waves of sincerity roll off him, and I briefly wonder if he's doing it on purpose to try and soothe me. I wouldn’t put it past him.

“Maeve, I’m just worried about what this means; with my family …” he looks around, almost searching for the right words.

“I know, Draco, I know. I was there, I saw it happen. I recognised Lucius Malfoy when I met him in second year, in Flourish and Blotts, but I was a second year, and couldn’t break my secret identity that close to reporters,” I explain, and the worry lessens on his face.

“I remember hearing Father talking about it; his last task set by the Dark Lord. It’s sick.” Draco scoffed. Anger lined his features at the mere thought of it.

I squeeze his hand gently and manage a shaky smile. Words fail me completely, and I sink down off the sofa to the floor next to him, pulling him into my arms.

“Thank you, Draco, for understanding,” I murmur to him, and having my arms around him feels … right. There’s no question that this is where I want to be right now.

Through our contact, I can feel the steady beating of his heart, and it helps to calm me. Idly, I swirl my fingers around in patterns on Draco’s back, the repetitive motion grounding me. Draco doesn’t mention it when we finally stand up, both stumbling as our legs protest the weight put upon them.

The idea of showering is thrown out of my mind as Draco refuses to leave my side, and I’m not quite sure that’s something to introduce on a whim.

There’s both a freedom and a curse that comes with my secrets being revealed. Obviously, there’s cause for concern that if Draco, even accidentally, tells anyone, then Cassia isn’t safe. I trust Draco, and if Cassia and I have to disappear, then we will. But something else has shifted between us to. It’s not anything either of us have acknowledged, and I don’t think that it should matter, but we’re both Purebloods.

The whole Sacred 28 thing is a load of shite, in my personal opinion, and I can’t tell anyone that I’m pureblood either, so it shouldn’t matter. But for some annoying reason, I feel like it does matter. Like now, I’m on a level playing field with Draco, and if it is ever safe for me to be known as a Walters, there could be no objection of the Malfoy family on our relationship.

Other than being blood traitors, but those are only small details. That, if we win this war, won’t matter so much.

I have a strong desire to collapse onto my bed still in my school uniform, I’m that exhausted. Emotional conversations really knock it out of you. Instead, I throw some pyjamas at Draco, and turn my back, dressing in my own set. With a flick of my wand, the clothes fold themselves into a neat pile on my chair, and I rest my wand on top of them.

“Maeve, can I ask you something?” Draco asks hesitantly as he climbs into bed beside me. I nod, making an internal promise to myself to always try and explain things to Draco, to the best of my ability. Since he knows pretty much everything, a little added explanation will probably do some good.

“Have you ever read someone’s mind without their permission?”

I suck in a breath and turn to face him.

“Yes. When I was younger, up until maybe half-way through third year, I didn’t have a handle on the Legilimens thing, and it was difficult to control, particularly if thoughts were very strong, or emotional,” I explain, and Draco raises an eyebrow in added question.

I smirk slightly. “I read your mind once, accidentally. You remember in first year, on the train to Hogwarts, when you came into the carriage and saw Ron, Harry and I?” He reddened at the memory, and I nodded.

“You had such flattering thoughts about my blood status, and my being friends with Harry,” I tease, and Draco groaned, rolling over away from me.

I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back.

“I was such a little shit back then,” he sighed, and I sighed dramatically with him.

“Shame you didn’t change much,” I laugh, and he glares mockingly at me, pulling me into his chest.

“Little did I know I’d be sharing a bed with her six years later,” he murmured into my hair, and I smiled contentedly at the ceiling. Draco’s fingers play with my hair, and the soft movements against my head relax me even further. It’s not long before I fall asleep, realising how much I had truly missed sharing a bed with Draco over the past two – very cold – nights.

***

Cassia waking me up is a lot less violent than usual, as she snuggles into my arms unobtrusively, and promptly falls back to sleep. My mind wanders once I’ve woken up, and as I hug Cassia close, I feel Draco’s steady breathing behind me.

 _You’re not alone in this anymore_ , I remind myself, and Draco, in his sleep, shuffles closer to me.

Magic is really doing a lot of favours for us, when I think about this situation. If this were any muggle school, I’d be very concerned that someone might walk in, and see us like this. Draco’s a highly private person, and realistically so am I, and since this relationship (if that’s what this is) is secret from all our friends, I’d hate for them to find out like this.

Not that I know how I want to broach the subject in the first place. But that’s a problem for another day.

It’s a little while before Cassia stirs again, and when she does, she’s fully awake. I try – fruitlessly – to keep her from waking Draco, but he’s disturbed by how much she bounces on the bed trying to get me to move.

“Okay, okay, Cassia, give a girl a minute,” I acquiesce, and she jumps down, landing with a thud on her feet, and running out the room.

I turn in Draco’s arms and meet his stormy grey eyes filled with sleep, and brush away at the fringe obscuring his eyes. He stifles a yawn as I press a kiss to his forehead.

“How are you so awake this early?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. I send him a grin.

“Practice, love, that’s all it is,” I respond softly, and he pulls me closer, muttering incoherently about how dark it looks outside.

I smirk as something hard presses into my leg, and bite my lip as I meet his eyes. He groans and falls back dramatically against the pillow. Draco’s so easily riled up, and equally easy to embarrass in such close quarters. It’s honestly endearing.

The person I know as Draco is miles away from the person I knew as simply _Malfoy_. There’s little question in my mind that it was never really him, never truly what he wanted, but that the pressure of being a Malfoy got to him long before he ever stepped on the Hogwarts Express for the first time.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” I assure him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. Draco responds eagerly, but I keep the pace of it slow, soft and sensual, as I run a hand lightly over his bare chest. I don’t know where all my self-control comes from with Draco – maybe it’s how he reacts as he’s not in control?

Whatever it is, it’s not a bad thing.

Draco moans slightly as my hand rests on his hip, teasingly, and I nibble gently on his lip, and Draco’s arm tighten around me.

Finally, his patience snaps and desire takes over, deepening the kiss and a rushed passion escapes his mind. There’s an accompanying roughness, a kind of dominance, that Draco emanates as he pushes me back into the mattress and straddles me, leaning down to kiss me again, fingers playing at the buttons on my pyjama shirt.

I encourage him, and soon, my shirt is off, discarded over the side of the bed. It crosses my mind to lock the door, and I wordlessly reinforce and adjust the wards.

Draco reclaims my mouth, hot with desire and radiating lust, and I briefly wonder if I could use the emotional readings to my advantage. The thought flies from my mind as Draco moves, leaving a trail of kisses down my neck, fingers teasing at the fabric of the muggle sports-bra I sleep in.

“You’re beautiful,” Draco breathes against my skin, leaving a possessive hickey at the base of my neck, low enough that it’ll be concealed by my uniform.

I wind my fingers into his hair, arching at his touch. Skilled and precise touches that send me senselessly addicted to Draco and wondering where that patience ever came from.

When his lips meet the peek of breast over the edge of the fabric, he looks up to my face, a soft question in his eyes. Nodding, I help guide his hands to pull the fabric over my head, and fall back against the pillow, blushing under Draco’s intense gaze. His eyes are dark, fully-blown pupils, encased in only the smallest ring of silver.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, leaning forward and take my nipple gently between his teeth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin. I let out a shuddery moan, feeling a familiar tightening of my muscles as my own arousal grew. Draco’s own erection pressed insistently against my thigh through his trousers, but the Slytherin appeared to be ignoring it as he flicked his tongue over my nipple, gently twisting the other one between his finger and thumb at the same time.

“Oh, Draco,” I moaned, and my hips involuntarily bucked into his own, and his groan reverberated against my skin.

Bringing his mouth up to meet mine, I ground my hips against his, swallowing the deep moans he produced at the sensation. One of his hands moved to cup my arse, and I wriggled into the touch, wanting more, needing more.

“What is it that you want, my darling?” Draco asked in a low, husky voice, sensual enough to drive me into becoming a quivering mess.

“Y-You,” I stammer out, my brain barely forming coherent thoughts. Draco takes it as confirmation, and slides my shorts down, underwear with them, leaving me naked underneath him.

His admiring gaze lasts a few seconds – a few too many seconds, if you ask me, but he didn’t, unsurprisingly – before he begins pressing kisses all the way down my body, from my breasts down to my inner thighs, and I feel my muscles clenching in anticipation.

Draco murmurs a warming charm on his hands, parting my legs for him, eyes meeting mine in confirmation. I nodded, my clit already throbbing, and Draco gently tongued my entrance, and a long drawn-out moan escaped my lips.

I whimpered slightly when he pulled away, only to be rewarded when he slid a finger inside me, and I melted back against the pillow at the expert movements he was making inside of me.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Draco slides a second finger in, licking and gently nipping at my clit, and I feel all my muscles begin to tense, on the brink of orgasm as Draco fingers me.

I’m pushed over the precipice of pleasure as Draco pinches at my nipple with his other hand, and I ride out the wave of utter bliss, closing my eyes and unable to form a single coherent thought.

Draco removes his fingers from inside me, pulling himself up the bed to lie next to me, and I automatically nestle into his shoulder, pressing my whole body into him.

The ability to think returns, and I turn slightly to look up at Draco, kissing his mouth softly. Against my naked body, I can feel a dampness seeping through his trousers, and I smirk, finding my sass.

“Good to know you’re as crazy about me as I am about you,” I murmur, and he blushes. “I can make you come in your pants like a third-year without even touching you, just by an array of erotic noises.”

Draco shakes his head in a futile denial – there’s some definite evidence that that was what happened. I kiss away his embarrassment and summon my wand, casting a quick _Tempus_ , showing us it’s an hour until breakfast.

“You just summoned your wand?” he says, a questioning hint to his tone. “Where did that kind of power come from?”

“I’m a Walters, love, I do what I want,” I smirk as I jump up off the bed, and head into the bathroom, leaving a stunned, and half-hard, Draco in my bed.

***

After breakfast, Cassia and I head up to Gryffindor tower with my year-mates, determined for some light-hearted fun, and everyone wants to talk about the Slytherin Drag Six as they’ve been so affectionately named.

Judging by all the questions they have, I’m running low on doubt that they think it’s me. They’re not wrong, but at least they’re smart enough not to say anything in front of everyone.

The only sixth-year missing is Neville as we, and some other friends, Ginny included, sit on the sofas and armchairs around the fire. When I notice they’re all looking at me, I give the game up.

“Yes, I started this whole thing, but not on my own, I had help.” As I spoke, I released the shields holding back Hermione’s and Ginny’s memories, and gesture to my two partners in crime.

Harry briefly fills them in on the incident, which Snape was a clear participant in my torment, despite being a professor, and everyone agrees they got what they deserve.

The general consensus on the magic is that it must have been crazily powerful for Snape to fall for it, and I wave it off, simply explaining that he couldn’t have seen it because he wasn’t looking for a spell to turn his clothes into that of Neville’s grandmother.

I’m met with a round of chuckles at how blasé I’m being about this, and in honesty, I like this attention. It’s separating me from who I became this year – the girl who brought her sister to Hogwarts. If this gets around the rest of the school, and I have few doubts it will, I’ll be the Gryffindor who put some Slytherins in drag. That’s a title I can get behind. Unequivocally.

 _Walters? We’ve got a slight issue here_. Fawkes’ voice broke into my conscience, and I started out of my seat as Fawkes gave me permission to see through his eyes and at the scene unfolding in Dumbledore’s office.

Everyone’s looking at me like I’m mental, and I shake my head, no time to explain as I run out of the common room, leaving Cassia in Hermione’s capable arms.

I nearly knock over a group of first-years trying to come in through the door as I hurtle down the stairs, forcing myself to think through what I’m about to do.

Ignoring my nerves, I force myself to take the last two corridors much more slowly, steadying my breathing back to a normal rate, and Fawkes tells me the password for the Gargoyle, which is _acid pops_ , because of course it is. I think someone should teach Dumbledore about password security. His current favourite sweets isn’t the most secure password in the world.

The gargoyle takes me up, and instead of barging right in with usual Gryffindor abrasiveness, I knock politely on the heavily-fortified magical oak, heart pounding out of my chest.

Since I’ve become a little more knowledgeable and in-tune with ward magic, I can now truly appreciate how intense these protections are. The password is just a joke in comparison to this – no one is breaking these wards any time soon, not unless they’re controlling all the magical energy in the castle. I’m not convinced that’s even possible.

I guess passwords by comparison are a very muggle security thing, and it’s merely a decoy to confuse wizards, who often overlook any sort of muggle logic. Dumbledore could ward his door so only those signatures with his express permission can walk through. Maybe he already has.

Making a mental note to research if you can mask or hide your magical signature, I wait, trying not to appear to be studying these wards as seriously as I am.

The magical door swings open, and I survey the scene ahead of me, the fight I’m walking right into. Neville looks immensely relieved at my presence and is edging away from Snape. The black-robed professor appears to be neutral, though underneath there’s a simmering rage that, admittedly, he’s doing well to hide so fully.

Dumbledore is sat behind his desk, a serious expression on his face, a stark reminder that he’s one of the most powerful wizards for a damn good reason. McGonagall’s here too, a relieving presence. She’s sure to help me out if she can.

“To what do we owe this visit, Miss Ellis?”

Mentally apologising, I quickly glance into Neville’s mind, and make sure I’m about to break the right thing up. Yes, he was being accused of the drag prank. Right.

I swallow nervously. “I would like to confess to the trick played on the Slytherin sixth-years, and Professor Snape.”

Glee fills the room in waves, and it emanates from the Slytherin, though the only physical change is the tipping upward of his lips. Neville sidled further away from Snape now he was officially off the hook. Damnit, this was Snape’s plan all along. Take Neville, who everyone knows is terrified of Snape, and make him the unjust victim and ignite my Gryffindor daring and loyal side. It’s a good plan for Snape, in all fairness, but I’ve got one card left up my sleeve.

“And why did you do this, to these very specific victims?” Dumbledore asks calmly, and Snape’s face twists at the word ‘victim’.

“There was an incident last weekend that I feel went without being properly addressed, and I made my own decisions,” I explain, and Dumbledore wordlessly prompts me to continue. “The sixth-years made sexual comments about my body, and Professor Snape both put me in detention, and agreed with the comments made. I didn’t see a way out of it professionally so I took matters into my own hands.” 

Snape’s cocky upper-handed grin is fading as he’s called out in front of the headmaster, and I try not to look to McGonagall. Calling Snape out feels good, and I know I’m only brave enough to do it because Snape isn’t my sole audience.

Maybe it’s not about bravery though. Calling Snape out in an isolated circumstance is borderline suicidal. There is a line between bravery and stupidity, and though it is Gryffindors who are known for crossing that line, there’s only so far you can go before certain death.

“I alone accept responsibility for this stunt,” I state firmly, my eyes meeting Dumbledore’s. The headmaster leans back thoughtfully in his chair, surveying the four of us stood before him.

“Mr Longbottom, you may leave, and I apologise for Severus’ incorrect conclusion,” Dumbledore dismisses. Neville stammers his thanks, fleetingly putting a hand on my shoulder in comfort as he left the room.

“Miss Ellis, this allegation against Severus is a serious one. Theoretically as a professor, he could be tried by the Wizengamot, since you are underage,” Dumbledore explains patiently, his tone taking a much more serious lilt and I shake my head.

“I’m aware of the severity, Professor Dumbledore, but I do not wish to put anyone on trial. I was only explaining why I did it, as you asked.”

Putting Snape on trial would really be a dream, but if he is actually working as a spy for the Order, then I guess losing him to a wizard prison (I doubt they’d send him to Azkaban for this), or even losing his trust as a spy, would be difficult to replace. Plus, my Potions NEWT is somewhat dependent on having a competent professor, and for all the man’s flaws, potions skill isn’t one of them.

“I am going to leave it to Minerva to decide on your punishment. Yes, Severus-” Dumbledore cut him off before he could object. “Present circumstances taken into account, you are at a highly biased standpoint. Minerva will see to it.”

Snape’s cool mask had failed at some point. Now the anger was both written into his physical features as his arms were crossed tightly over his chest, eyes a black void and the impatient tapping of his foot, and the mental aura he was probably accidentally projecting more intensely that I think he realised.

“I think a weeks’ worth of detention will do,” McGonagall decided sternly, but she didn’t really mean it – her emotions were reading much lighter than her posture made her out to be. Snape was livid at how lightly I was getting off, but didn’t dare say anything in front of the headmaster.

Next potions class is going to be fun.

I’m dismissed, and the three adults wait patiently until the door has fully closed before any of them dare to speak. By that point, the wards silence the room, and I sigh, heading down the moving gargoyle’s steps.

Neville is waiting on the other side of the corridor, leant against the wall. Colour has returned to his face, and relief floods it as I come into view. I send him an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry you got caught up in this,” I start, getting the words out before Neville can say a thing. He waves me off.

“McGonagall knew it wasn’t me, think Dumbledore did too,” he shrugs, and I explain, in full, for hopefully the last time, what happened with the six Slytherins, and briefly, the magic behind the prank too.

For a Saturday morning, the corridors are incredibly quiet, and I’m instantly on my guard. If Neville notices something, he doesn’t say it. I catch the subtle magic of an age line on the ground a few feet ahead, and I neutralise it wandlessly, internally eye-rolling at the Slytherin’s meagre attempt to trick me. And for them getting Neville, though that probably wasn’t intentional. They’re probably hiding around a corner somewhere, watching as they hope their plan to pan out. I almost want to make a loud comment about how pathetic age lines really are as a pranking tool.

Leaving them to wonder why it didn’t work is much more entertaining of a prospect.

When we get back to the common room, everyone is working, well, almost everyone. Seamus and Dean are playing a game of exploding snap behind a silencing charm, and Lavender and Romilda are doing each other’s hair.

Cassia jumps up immediately from where she’d been drawing in front of the fire, and launches herself into my arms with enough strength to cause me to stagger back a little.

“Maeve Ellis, where the hell did you run off to?” Harry asks, abandoning his Potions textbook quickly. 

“I had a bad feeling Snape would try and blame Neville for the whole prank, so I went to Dumbledore and took the fall,” I explain briefly, receiving many strange looks. “It’s a week of detention; honestly it’s not a big deal,” I add, and Harry’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

Ginny throws me a somewhat annoyed look for taking the blame all myself, but I wave it off. There’s no point all of us going down for it, plus, one week of detention is hardly going to make or break my scholastic career. And, the other two girls are prefects. Me getting in trouble makes the most sense.


	12. Relationships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Swearing, and I think that's it :)

***

Over the next week, I spent every evening in detention, with a different professor each night. Snape had me cleaning cauldrons on Monday, hardly surprisingly without magic, and I don’t know what these had been filled with, but it stuck to the sides of the metal like superglue. Snape’s detention was by far the worst of them all, which I didn’t complain about.

I’d got off lightly only having a week of detention, and not even all of them with Snape, which was a definite possibility when McGonagall first assigned them.

Tuesday I spent with Professor Sprout in a greenhouse, taking care of some of the more dangerous plants that had decided to inhabit Greenhouse One of their own accord; Venomous Tentacular is not something to put within the reach of first-years. But, I enjoy Herbology overall, and Neville had volunteered to help Sprout with it anyway, so I spent my “detention” talking with Neville and Pomona about all things herbology.

Seeing Neville so clearly in his element is amazing, and he’s clearly very good at what he does – we talked extensively of his cross-breeding project on Mandrakes.

Wednesday I spent with Hagrid; probably my best detention since we spent it in the Forest looking after all types of magical creatures, mostly Thestrals and Hippogriffs. I’m really in my element with magical creatures since they’re pretty easy for me to communicate with.

I found Luna in the Forest that evening, talking to one of the baby thestrals.

“Oh, hello, Maeve. Aren’t they beautiful?” Luna said, in her usual dreamy voice as she tossed an apple in its direction. She was perched on a fallen log, school-tie and jumper missing, as she swayed slightly with the breeze.

“Yeah; this one likes you,” I commented, throwing a glance back to where I was supposed to be in detention. I doubt Hagrid will mind. “Luna, can I ask you something?”

She nods absently, focussing on the thestral. “Go for it.”

“You and Ginny, is that a thing?”

Luna’s eyes widened as she turned to look properly at me. Her fingers shook as she fiddled with the clasp – either from the cold, or nerves, I’m not sure, but I’m reading nerves in her emotions.

“Ginny doesn’t want to tell anyone until her family know,” Luna responded, her voice taking on a rare, more serious tone. “But, yes.”

I shoot Luna a smile as I sit down next to her, taking her hand in mine. Her fingers were freezing, and I cast a quick warming charm around the pair of us.

“I won’t tell anyone, I promise that,” I whisper to her, and the baby thestral approaches us both, pressing its head into Luna’s knee. The Ravenclaw smiles fondly at the creature, and I summon her jumper.

She accepts it gratefully, proclaiming she’d lost it, and I slip away back to my detention, mentally reminding myself to check she wasn’t still here once my detention had finished. Thankfully, she wasn’t and had had the sense to go inside once the warming charm wore off.

Thursday brought detention with McGonagall, which, rather entertainingly, was writing an essay on the magic I used to pull the prank. I made sure I was as thorough as possible, explaining every detail of every rune I’d woven into those wards to make it seem as innocuous as possible.

And, evidently, it worked.

Friday was an evening with Tonks, who had me helping her to set up for her younger year classes next week, with all the practical material they would need. I’m borderline jealous of all the first-years who haven’t yet experienced a shitty defence professor. If this supposed curse on the profession holds, they are not going to know what hit them next year.

Though I really hope it doesn’t. Tonks is an amazing professor, and since she’s an Auror too, knows exactly what she’s on about when talking about offensive and defensive situations.

Tonks happily chats all the way through the evening too; overall, I can’t help but think these detentions haven’t really been detentions at all.

Not that I’m complaining, but it is a little odd.

Every night, Cassia has been looked after in Gryffindor Tower, by any number of students. Since it got around that the prank was me, I’ve had all manner of slightly strange conversations. I think Harry’s enjoying that he’s not the centre of attention a little too much, but as long as he’s happy, I’m happy to scare off first- and second-years with how complicated the magic was. 

Draco’s come into my room each night too, and as soon as I have some time, I resolved to modify the wards so Draco can get in, providing that it’s just Cassia and me in here. I wouldn’t want him accidentally walking in when Hermione, Harry and Ron are here.

That would be an interesting way to explain us to them.

Maybe not.

Since our morning together, there’s been no more sexy times – mainly because I’ve been too exhausted. Between Quidditch, looking after Cassia, daily detention, eight different NEWT subjects, all I want to do in the mornings is sleep, and Draco hasn’t said a single word about it.

He’s been perfect, giving me an extra hour’s sleep in the morning and keeping Cassia entertained for me.

When I wake in his arms on Saturday morning, I can’t bring myself to wake him, and I find myself content with watching him, in hopefully the least creepy way possible. I want to know how this happened; what powers of the universe muddled events to give me this perfect morning, where for once, in the years since my family’s slaughter, I wake up feeling safe in the arms of someone I truly care for?

“Watching me sleep?” Draco asks slyly, and I blink, bringing myself back out of the depths of my mind.

“I can’t resist, love, you’re too adorable,” I respond, choosing my words to annoy him the most. He seems to have no objection to ‘love’ as a nickname, and it’s kind of stuck. Though there is a definite distinction between ‘love’ and ‘my love’, and I’ve been careful not to let the latter slip out, and freak him out. 

With barely a warning, he growls and pins me to the mattress, a fit of playful anger in his eyes.

“I am not _adorable_ ,” he hisses, and I give him my best innocent grin before kissing him lightly.

“No, of course not,” I say, attempting to be solemn, but entirely unable to help the teasing lilt to my words. Draco shakes his head and climbs off me, pulling on some joggers as he stood up.

I’m not entirely sure at what point did both Draco and I only start wearing underwear to bed, but there is no way I’m going to complain about that. He’s pretty damn hot and, Merlin help me, knows it. He catches me looking and a cocky grin spreads along his face

“Take a photo, it’ll last longer,” he teases, and I flip him off, rolling myself up in the blankets. Draco drags a shirt over his head, before looking questioningly at himself in the mirror, and I contain my laughter.

“Draco, love, I think that’s my shirt,” I manage between giggles as he struggled to get out of my Gryffindor Quidditch shirt. Before he can rip it, I ditch the blankets and help the too-tight shirt over his head, scanning it for any signs of rips.

Thankfully there aren’t any, and I hand Draco the green Slytherin one. He points his finger warningly at me as I return to the warmth of my bed, though it’s decidedly colder now I’m the only one in it.

“I’ve got to run for Quidditch practice; see you tonight?”

I nod, and he bends down to kiss me goodbye, and I have to resist the urge to pull him back into bed with me. I’d be somewhat pissed if Draco hadn’t let me sneak off to practice too.

Eventually, I drag myself out of bed, feeling the aftermath of a week’s worth of not enough sleep, as I started running a bath for Cassia, complete with colour-changing bubbles. Honestly, I’m feeling kind of guilty that I haven’t been able to spend enough time with her; it seems to be a recurring theme with my school life.

Today, though, I’m determined to break that.

Whilst we’re playing with her magical bath-toys, I get an extensive list of things she’d like to do – the first of which being riding my broom again. The second is painting, and the third is gymnastics.

I instantly agree to everything, though I know we can’t go anywhere near the Quidditch pitch if Slytherin practice is still in session. I’d be accused of spying on their tactics without questions.

Breakfast in the morning is usually an option affair, one of probably the least attended meals, but both Harry and Ginny made it. When I mention flying to both of them, they are up for it, and Cassia bounces excitedly on my lap.

She doesn’t want to eat breakfast she’s so excited. But I put my foot down, and Cassia and I engage in a battle of wills and patience as I persuade her with the admittedly-unappetising-looking porridge. Her addiction to sugary foods at all times of the day is something I’ve let go on for a little while too long, and she stubbornly refuses.

I try stirring some jam in, to sweeten it up, but she’s still highly unamused.

 _Cassia, if you want to fly, you need to have eaten something proper first,_ I try and explain, but instead of listening to me, she tries to block me out of her mind in a bout of stubborn annoyance, and I give her a look.

“We can sit here all morning if you want,” I promise sharply, and she climbs off my lap and sits in the seat next to me, effectively ignoring her breakfast, and me. I lean my elbow on the table, propping up my chin with my hand as I watch my sister.

I know she’s probably distracting herself with some mental story so she can ignore me more effectively.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I sigh heavily to Harry and Ginny, who are watching the scene with concerned expressions. “I’m her sister, not her mum, but I’m also her guardian, so have to do what’s best for her? I don’t know how to deal with stubborn six-year-olds,” I reason, only confusing myself more.

“Write to Mum,” Ginny suggests, and my eyes light up at the idea. I hadn’t thought of Molly, but now I’ve got the thought, it seems like the most logical one. She’s raised seven kids, and all of them were six at one point.

Usually, Cassia and I are in such good sync, but I guess this is a result of my absence so much this week.

Note to future Maeve: Don’t get any more detentions. It’s bad for your relationship with Cassia.

 _Cass, baby, can we try a compromise?_ I ask her, and she looks to me, vaguely intrigued. _Why don’t you eat some fruit or toast, and we can try the porridge again another day?_

She relents, and I nearly sighed with relief. She eats an orange happily enough, and a slice of toast, drinking more apple juice before I’m happy she’s eaten enough to fly.

Ron stumbled in to eat at some point after Cassia started eating, and piled his plate high with bacon, sausages and toast. My stomach turns at the sheer size of his portion, but with Ron, I’ve gotten used to his ability to eat for England.

He agrees through a mouthful of food to playing Quidditch, and I listen idly as I notice the Slytherin team enter the hall. So, the pitch will be empty; that’s good.

Once Ron his finally finished eating, we all head out, grabbing brooms out of storage in the changing rooms, and Cassia’s skipping excitedly, our little disagreement almost already forgotten.

On the pitch, there are a group of second-years, of mixed houses, playing what looks like a friendly game at one end of the pitch. We head to the opposite end, and Harry takes off instantly, Ginny and Ron not too far behind.

As Cassia takes my broom and flies around, sticking low to the ground like I’ve asked her to, I survey the three above me, and Harry’s movements in the air are less natural-looking than usual.

Obviously, the firebolt is behaving fantastically, but it’s only so good as the person who rides it, and Harry’s not up to his usual flying standard. It’s still better than that of most of the school, but it’s somewhat … sluggish in his turns.

I’m very glad we don’t have a match today.

Ginny and Ron are both flying superbly, and Cassia flits over to me. I clamber on the broom behind her, wrapping an arm in a vice-like grip around her middle, and taking off with the other hand on the handle.

I increase our height at gradual intervals; I don’t want to freak Cassia out by joining the others too quickly. She does admirably well, encouraging me to keep going higher until we’re at the same height as the others. I keep the Nimbus moving slowly, which is a task in itself, whilst Cassia screams and whoops in joy.

The others can fly circles around me with ease, even on the older models of brooms, but no one says a thing.

I duck suddenly as a bludger comes out of nowhere, spinning around quickly as I whip out my wand, freezing, and the grounding it. Cassia’s screams turn terrified as I urge the broom to the ground, going as fast as I can to get my sister on stable ground.

Once she is, she instantly doubles over, throwing up all over the grass, as I rub her back and whisper nonsensical soothing noises. Her whole body shakes as I wordlessly clean her up and pull her close into my arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby, it’s all going to be okay,” I repeat, again and again until her shaking ceases. When I pull away to study her, she’s gone deathly pale, the only colour in her face the reddened tear-tracks, and I stand, hoisting her into my arms.

Ginny enters my field of vision, concern written in her features and I send her a reassuring smile. Glancing to the other end of the field, the second-years are getting very loudly yelled at by Harry and Ron for stupid behaviour, and stealing a bludger without supervision.

Ron, as a prefect, could easily take points off, but since there is a mix of all the houses, I think it’s more likely he’ll put them in group detention. But maybe take points off because it’s easier to organise than detention for half of second year.

When all the second-years file off the pitch, looking thoroughly depressed, Ron and Harry start back over towards us, and we meet them half-way.

I thank the pair of them for dealing with the second-years and Harry hugs me around Cassia, and I notice how exhausted he looks.

 _That’s why he’s not flying as well_ , I realise, but I keep my mouth shut, and Cassia stretches out her arms to Harry, hugging around his neck. We both stay on the ground as Ron and Ginny take to the air again, and once they are out of hearing range, I give Harry a stern look.

“You didn’t tell me the nightmares were getting really bad,” I start, and he sits heavily on the grass, Cassia climbing into his lap. I glance upwards, and even I know Ron’s not this dense usually.

The knut drops and I take his hand gently. “Privacy charms around your bed?”

He nods in a single, swift motion, and I fix my eyes intently on him.

“Tonight, I’m going to teach you to put up shields to stop the nightmares,” I proclaim, and his eyes widen in shock. “I should have done this ages ago, but Legilimency is pretty complicated stuff unless you’ve got a natural family flair for it,” I explain, rolling my eyes as he pointed out my and Cassia’s ability.

I shift so I’m sitting next to him, and he rests his head on my shoulder, eyes slipping closed. How haven’t I noticed this?

Shit.

***

Somehow, Harry and I managed to sneak away after dinner without anyone following us. Cassia, after her emotional day, was practically falling asleep at the table in the Hall, even with all the noise, and I carry her down to my room, hoping the motion of me walking is enough to rock her to sleep.

It is, and I instantly take her to her room, tucking her into bed and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Back in the common room, Harry is sat nervously in one of the armchairs, and I take a deep breath. I’ve never taught anyone legilimency before, but my teaching Harry has got to be better than anyone else, right? I mean, if all goes to shit, I know I’m capable enough to intervene and make sure he does no permanent damage to his brain. Because, unfortunately, that can happen if a wizard tries to put too much power into mental shields.

It’s like a short-circuiting of the brain.

A.k.a, it’s very bad. Usually, magical medicine can’t even fix it.

“This is going to be difficult to get right,” I warn him right off the bat. “If something starts to go wrong, then I’m going to have to enter your mind and pull you out, which, as it sounds, is very invasive.” I make eye contact with Harry, but there’s no trace of fear or embarrassment in his eyes.

“You can still back out now,” I remind him, and Harry shakes his head vehemently.

Not having expected him to back out now, I clear a space on the floor and we sit, opposite each other, on the rug in front of the fire.

“You need to start with meditation; clear your mind of all ambient thoughts and focus on settling within your magical core,” I instruct, and his eyes slip closed, eagerly following my steps.

I monitor the surface level of his emotions, and even after only a couple of minutes, I know this isn’t going to be as easy as some of the books make it out to be. He’s struggling with the meditation – he’s too excited about the prospect of the outcome to truly sink into his magic.

I give him half an hour of uninterrupted meditation to see if he can clear his thoughts, but no such luck. When I bring him cautiously back into the room, he instantly knows it didn’t work as it was supposed to.

I flick my wand and some ambience music comes over my little radio and fills the room.

“We’ll give it ten minutes, and try again, okay?”

I make tea, and though I’m sorely tempted, I don’t lace it with any potions. If he’s going to learn to do this sustainably, it needs to be without magical aid. There was a case in London of a wizard who could only produce a corporeal Patronus if he was high on Exstimulo Potion; he died from an overdose of the potion at some point in the late 1940s, when his magic was so overstimulated that an unknown wordless spell caused a massive explosion in his house, killing him and three Muggles who were in the blast radius.

That was a difficult one for the Ministry to cover up to the Muggles.

There aren’t any records of how wizards have fared when another wizard is helping with something like this. Although, if what I know about my family is true, then none of the Walters have ever been particularly inclined to share their gifts.

Partly, my mother always said, because Legilimens scare people, especially ones like us who aren’t deterred by mental shields.

I never found out what the other part was.

Pressing a teacup into Harry’s hand, I take my seat in front of him again, quickly tapping into the wards to check that Cassia was still sound asleep. She was, and I turned back to the boy in front of me.

“I told you this wouldn’t be easy,” I remind him softly, and he nods, though I can sense the anger and annoyance around his mind. “Let’s try again; let the music wash over you and push away the memories and the thoughts, clearing your mind.”

Harry closes his eyes again, sitting cross-legged with his hands balanced unceremoniously on his feet. I feel him doing better and he retreats inside himself, tunnelling down into his magic and leaving his mind behind. His eyes dim slightly at he retreats from his mind, and I take that as a good sign – that this might actually work.

Leaving him for a little longer this time, I run over in my mind what we have to do next. I probably should have explained this a little better beforehand, when we were out sitting on the Quidditch pitch, but I don’t want to interrupt this meditation to re-explain it.

“Okay, Harry, that’s really good. I need you to slowly bring yourself up out of there and settle back in the front of your mind,” I ask, softly and determinedly. He does just that, and though it’s gradual, he eventually reaches back into his mind, and a glow returns to his eyes.

“We need to combine that, now, with something else. I need you to take all your memories, and almost lock them away.”

He looks wildly confused and I sigh, biting my lip.

“Okay, well, for me, I have the image of a trunk that used to be in my bedroom, and by making memories into something I can hold in my mind, I put them in the trunk, and lock them in there until I need them,” I explain, and Harry’s eyes light up in understanding.

I know he’s thinking of his cupboard under the stairs as he sinks into his memories, drawing power from the meditation to mould the memories into tangible (mental, so technically not tangible) things. I watch his body for any adverse reactions; he’s methodically sorting through all the memories he can, that’s bound to be traumatic for someone who’s seen so much horror.

Reassuringly lacing my fingers into his as he starts crying, I make my presence known next to him, internally deliberating if I should be joining him mentally too. I know I shouldn’t, that he has to do this for himself, but watching him, so upset, and not doing anything is horrible.

When his crying intensified, I couldn’t help myself and I ventured into his mind.

Finding myself in an unfamiliar hallway, I took in all the muggle objects, and the photographs of people I barely recognised as the Dursleys, who had shown up a few times to pick Harry up from the train at the end of a year.

Harry was kneeling on the floor of the hallway, the door of the cupboard slightly ajar. I put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he looked up, first in fear, and then relaxed into my presence in his mind.

There were no scattered memories around us, only an angry buzz emanating through the gap of the cupboard.

“I just need you to close this door now,” I murmur to him, and he shakes his head violently.

“I can’t forget them,” he mumbled in return, and I knelt next to him, gently pulling his chin around so he was facing me.

“No one is forgetting anything or anyone,” I say sternly. “This is just for the night, just to help you sleep, remember?” I elaborated, and he nodded, clearly unhappy with the concept.

He doesn’t move, and I know I can’t do it for him. This has to be his decision.

“If you want to, we can open this up again, and we can try again another day,” I assured him, but Harry shook his head wordlessly. Pressing a palm against the door, he closed the door, the hubbub of noise vanishing as the lock clicked into place.

Taking my hand, he stands up and walks us both out the front door, and we’re back in our bodies, Harry’s shaking from the anguish of his memory.

“I’m so proud of you,” I praise him, pulling him into my arms as the tears flow freely down his face. I just hold him, rubbing his back and just being present, hoping that’s enough to help.

Of course, now that he’s locked his bad memories away, I can’t really get into his mind without undoing all that work to try and soothe him more. So, Muggle comfort will have to do.

When Harry pulls away from me, he has a guilty expression on his face.

“Thank you, Maeve.” Gratitude seeps out of his protected mind and I throw a grin his way.

“Anything I can do to help, you know that.” Harry grins back at me, and I explain the shortcuts for that process that he can now take. Keeping dark memories sealed permanently is a complete no-go, and as much as Harry dislikes the idea of taking it back out, he understands my concerns. I wouldn’t want him to go insane, or become to most unbearably naïve wizard in the world.

Neither sounds like a great option.

I suppress a flinch when my ring pulses, just about managing to keep my expression straight.

"Why don't you go upstairs and get ready for bed?" I suggested mildly, hyper-aware of the ring pulsing on my finger. Someone was being damn insistent, and honestly, I've got a pretty good idea of who it is. Harry nodded without suspicion and I relaxed the wards, Draco instantly rushing in.

He sees me in the middle of the floor and is on me in a second, sealing our lips with ease. Despite myself, I don't have the heart to push him away, and I lose myself in the kiss, all coherent thoughts leaving my brain.

"Draco," I murmur as he moves to my neck. "Wait, Draco, stop," I insist, and he pulls back, arms still around me.

"You know how much of a tease you are," he breathed, and I shook my head. He pulled my body close, everything pressed together, and for an ironic moment, I realise Draco brings it on himself when he pulls stunts like this.

"We can't, not tonight," I reiterate, and he raises an eyebrow, and if you didn't know him, you might mistake his expression for humility. "It's not you, Harry, he's upstairs - nightmares, I’ve been helping," I rush out, and Draco drops his arms, morphing back into Malfoy, stalking out of the room before I could say another thing.

Bollocks.

***


	13. Duels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: parent death (in conversation), grief

***

When Dumbledore explained the Order to me, in early October, I feigned surprise, pretending I hadn't been talking to the owls about it through the whole summer, and he sent me off to see Snape and tell him I would be joining the training sessions. 

Knocking on the door to Snape's private quarters was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life, especially as our recent _incident_ still is very much a sore spot for him. He answered it in an angry flurry of robes and insisted that seeing as I had already disturbed him, now would be a perfect time to have the first session of the year.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had come to see me in my quarters when Cassia and I didn’t show up for breakfast, and Snape looked thoroughly displeased as he was outnumbered, four Gryffindors to one Slytherin.

Maybe once I’ve told everyone about me and Draco – if that’s still a thing after the fiasco of our last conversation – then he can join us, and hopefully make Snape less of a dick towards us all.

I grinned mentally at Cassia as she stuck her tongue out behind Snape's back, and judging by Harry's timely coughing fit, he saw it too.

"We will be training in the spare potions classroom." Snape lead the way, and I sternly reminded Cassia that she was to stay in our room, out of harm's way. Since the DA meeting I’d taken her to with the personal shield, I was a lot more confident in my skills to protect her, but with a mixture of it being Snape running these sessions, and me potentially finally being able to us more of my power, I don’t want to take the chance my shield might fail.

In the classroom, the furniture had all been removed and Snape set us up in small duels to gage power. Of course, there were weaved insults into his words, and his tone, but between all of us, we managed to ignore the jibes at our skills, and at Gryffindor in general.

"Don't be holding back on me," Ron smirked at me as we took the centre of the room. I raised my eyebrows at the challenge, and we inclined our heads, starting the duel.

Predicting that Ron would go on the offensive first, I started with a shield charm, absorbing some sort of hex, and I deflected the left-over power of the hex over my shoulder. It hit the wall and was absorbed into some sort of ward – in the middle of the duel, I couldn’t figure out what kind of ward it was, and I didn’t have the time to stop and think. Before Ron could stop himself sending a second offensive spell, I conjured a magical mirror, sending the spell flying back at him. Ron flew backwards, almost hitting the wall.

He scrambled to his feet, creating a shield in front of him, and I send a jet of Bluebell flames, non-harmful ones, but enough to falter his shield.

Snape's grin was somewhat concerningly evil as I sent a Jelly-Legs Jinx at Ron, which was absorbed by the remnants of his shield. I continued the barrage of spells as he attempted to reinforce the failing shield, switching easily to wordless casting, which definitely threw Ron off his game, as he dropped his shield a second too early, and was hit with an _Expelliarmus._ I caught his wand with a triumphant look, and handed it back, making space on the floor for Harry and Hermione.

I wouldn’t say Snape looked pleased that I had beaten Ron, but with his special dislike of the Weasley for his dreadful potions skills, there was a different kind of hatred there. At least I was decent at potions.

Breathing somewhat heavily, I tapped back into my wards, to see Cassia was in my room - Godric only knows why - and was climbing up to reach my potions equipment that I'd stashed on the top shelf.

I swore colourfully, and aloud, judging by Ron's expression, and I practically wrenched the door open, instantly bypassing all the wards on it without a second thought as I ran the length of the corridor and entered our rooms. I almost tripped up on the stairs in my hurry, scooping Cassia up from half-way to her destination, earning a cry of surprise from her.

 _Cassia Margaret Ellis! You know that's not yours to touch, it's dangerous,_ I admonish, and Cassia's nearing tears, but I have to let her know I'm being serious. This is dangerous shit. Sharp objects and poisonous ingredients are not something I'm going to let her get her hands on until she’s a student here herself.

Cassia apologises through her tears, and I sigh, hugging her close as my worry climbs down from the peak I’d just reached. She's tiny for a six-year-old and easily fits into my arms, with little fussing. As she clings to me, wispy strands of blonde hair falling across her face I set up more protective wards around the potions ingredients, and the others cross my mind.

I don't want to let her out of my sight but returning to the classroom would be asking for trouble. Both with more danger for Cassia, and risk of Snape’s wrath. But Harry, Ron and Hermione are probably out of their minds with worry, and I concede my pride, gently unhooking Cassia's thumb from in her mouth.

Nearing the second potions room, I realise what an absolute mess I made of the wards surrounding the door. In my haste, I didn't even think about them, I just barrelled straight through them, consequences be damned. With Professor Snape involved, I reckon I will live to regret that thought.

As I expected, Snape's livid, and Harry looks as though he's just been given detention for a week. Entirely plausible with Snape involved.

"Are we interrupting something, Miss Ellis?" Snape asked through clenched teeth.

"No, sir, but I thought it best that my sister didn't get her hands on my potions equipment, nor any of the ones I store in my room," I respond, trying not to let the sarcasm show through too badly.

Before Snape can reply, I turn to fix the broken wards, weaving Runes wordlessly into their magic, strengthening and salvaging what was already there, whilst still rocking slightly with Cassia in my arms. 

Hermione and Harry retake their duelling positions on the floor (I take it they can’t have got far before they called it quits whilst they waited for me to return), and I idly keep a shield between myself and Cassia, and the duel at hand, whilst humming softly, hoping that despite the noise, she's tired enough to nap a little.

After a little while, Harry beats Hermione - on sheer power rather than skill, which Snape delights in pointing out - and he sets Harry against me. Hermione, with an exhausted smile on her face, accepts as I gently pass Cassia over to her, unable to quite process that my little sister is watching me duel, even if she's almost asleep.

Harry and I nod to each other, and Snape calls the beginning of the duel. I shield immediately, reflecting the instantly-cast _Stupefy_ easily. Harry clearly expected this, as he throws another spell, and I don't quite clock what it is, but it's absorbed by my shield with little difficulty.

He’s good, really good, at predicting how to act and respond before spells are even cast, and I avoid using any sorts of underhand techniques to beat him. In a real duel, if I’m quick enough, I could get into someone’s mind whilst still defending their attacks, and throw them completely off their game long enough for me to win.

The moment of Harry's thinking extends as he's hit with an _Arresto momentum_ , and I follow with a Cheering Charm, trying to throw him off his game in a legal way, which works, and I build up my shield, knowing the duel is far from over, especially since Harry is involved. I guess I could've disarmed him then but making a good impression for him to Snape is an objective of mine, if not a primary one.

Finishing a duel in a couple of minutes isn’t going to put in a good impression on the loser, and with Snape in such a ruthless mood, I think we can both unanimously agree to drag this out a little longer, for mutual benefit.

My shield holds itself without much thought spent on it as Harry, having wordlessly focussed on the counter for the Cheering charm, strikes with a fire spell, and the shield absorbs all the heat. With a smirk, and my previous plan to draw this out completely out the window, I extract the fire magic and redirect it straight back to him. Using a mirroring spell I added to the ceiling whilst Harry was slowed so he wouldn't think much of it, I cast upwards as the fire obscured his vision and the _Expelliarmus_ hit Harry from above, his wand flying from his hand and a confused expression sticking to his face.

"Merlin, Maeve, when did you get so good at this?" Ron asked, and I shrugged. I know exactly when I did, and I've been consciously keeping my power on the down-low in classes, but at this point, I'm kind of sick of holding back in front of my friends. We talked about wandless magic, but nothing in a duelling or offensive context. Hermione looked momentarily annoyed, before she reached for her wand, and countered a shield that was keeping her and Cassia safe from rogue spells.

"You did all that whilst keeping that shield up to keep Cassia safe," Hermione stated, and I shrugged.

"Now that all the excitement is out the way," Snape drawled, and we snapped back to face him. I'd almost forgotten he was in the room in my excited display of power. "You need to be focussing on your shields, and awareness of other's shields-" Snape looked distinctly at Harry. "And just to check the competency, I want to see your Patronuses," he added, and I cringed. I dislike Patronuses deeply, and I'm sure as much is evident on my face. Though I did manage it with Draco, I've not done it since then. And given the current state of my tentative no-more-secrets truce with him, I'm not sure if this will work.

With all the noise in the room, Cassia was now fully awake, and Hermione set her down gently, and she ran around a little, clearly skirting widely around Snape, but having few qualms with running into any of the rest of us.

Selective spatial awareness is one of Cassia's favourite magic tricks.

Harry is the first to cast his Patronus, the silver stag as majestic as ever, and Ron follows suit with his yippy little terrier, Cassia's giggling much louder as she chased the animals. Snape's irritation seemed to grow the happier Cassia was, so I encouraged her a little mentally to keep it up as Hermione's otter swam gracefully just above Cassia's head.

With all eyes on me, I latched onto the memory of first meeting Cassia, and how her excitement grew when she realised she could talk mentally to me, and I cast the spell, completely unprepared for the reaction.

A growling cheetah emerged from the end of my wand, and everyone in the room, Snape excluded, was visibly shocked. I'd never really managed a fully Patronus in front of them, and my redeeming quality for my Defence OWL was me explaining the animal was the muggle version of a ghost. Shit like that works with Purebloods; they already think muggles are a little dim, there's no harm in bending that to my advantage.

"I've never seen that before," Harry remarked as Cassia ran to hide from the Patronus behind me. I focus a little more, willing the cheetah to roll over, which earned a giggle from Cassia and a proud smile from me.

"I think manipulating the Patronus for a child's amusement is a little unprofessional, don't you?" Snape asked coldly, clearly not wanting an answer. Cassia stuck her tongue out at Snape, and Ron snorted in laughter.

 _Cassia Ellis! Apologise at once to Professor Snape!_ I instant reprimand, and she shakes her head. _Cassia,_ I warn, and she sighs.

 _I'm sorry,_ Cassia's voice rings clear, but not aloud, and Snape pales beyond belief.

"Did you just..." I trail off, looking between Cassia and the unnerved professor. "You just spoke, directly into the professors mind?" I ask, and Cassia nodded innocently, unaware of what this means. I picked her up, arms protectively around her in case Snape tried something, which I wouldn't exactly put past him.

I feel my hands starting to shake, even as I'm holding Cassia, and Ron places a steadying hand on my shoulder. Weakness passes over me, and I try and reinforce my strength, leaning into the physical support Ron is giving me.

Cassia, with a gentle hand on my face, projected to me what she saw in his mind, and I can't stop the wave of raw magic as it erupts out of me, and I just about have the sense to shield Cassia from it, though I'm dangerously close to collapsing.

_Oh, Cassia, baby what are we going to do?_

***

Snape had left the room before I could apologise, and Harry had taken Cassia carefully from my arms, infinitely more comfortable around her than he had been before. As the magic ripped out of me, I’d managed not to fall to the floor, but with my power depleted, and magical exhaustion rapidly approaching, my legs shook and my arms weren’t strong enough to hold Cassia safely. I refused point-blank to let Ron carry me down the corridor, as he offered, but instead, I found myself unable to do anything but lean heavily on him. When I catch sight of Draco at the end of the corridor, I automatically try and stand up straighter and walk on my own, which only makes my legs give out from under me quicker.

Despite my protests, Ron picks me up and we go into my room, and he lies me down on the sofa. Harry's disappeared with Cassia, putting her to bed, her exhaustion causing her to fall asleep in Harry’s arms at her own magical exertion, whether she realised it or not. Hermione summons Dobby, who's more than happy to bring food and drinks to us here.

When I try to move Ron holds me down, refusing to let me pass out from over-exertion. Dobby re-enters the room with a pop, bringing tea and lunch with him. Harry coaxes me to drink a little, and Hermione summons a blanket from my room, draping it over me.

"What was it that Cassia saw?" Harry asked gently, and I manage to sit up, despite all their objections.

"He's a death eater," I manage to say, before breaking down into tears. In my worked-up state, I miss all the side glances they're sending each other. "He -" I break off, the pulse in my ring startling me. _Draco Malfoy._ I ignore it, but the wards say he's still waiting there, and Hermione picks up on my reluctance quicker than the boys, and she goes to the portrait hole herself, coming back with Draco in tow.

Harry's on his feet instantly, taking a protective stance in front of me, wand out and ready and Ron's not far behind.

"Potter, Weasley," Draco says calmly, and Hermione holds up Draco's wand. "I only wish to speak with Maeve, I'm not here to cause trouble." Both boys were sceptical, but I told Draco to take a seat, which he did without losing the Malfoy confidence, somewhat impressively.

Ron sat as Malfoy did, but I had to grab Harry's arm to encourage him to sit.

"Draco, these guys aren't going anywhere, so whatever you have, you can say it in front of these guys," I tell him, as sternly as I can manage, current energy levels playing into how pathetic my voice came out.

Draco sighed. "Severus just came on warpath into the Slytherin common room, specifically naming you, Maeve, and wanting to know anything about your family. Which has rocked the boat in terms of your _muggle_ family." Harry and Hermione stiffened at the pureblood distaste, and Draco instantly backed away from that fight.

"I just thought you should know; I'm on your side in this," Draco said earnestly, looking only at me. I full-well know he's on my side, but I have yet to talk to the three Gryffindors about what Draco and I have. Or at least, what I think we have. There's been little discussion about it explicitly, and I don't want to get the wrong idea. Plus, since the reveal of my real name, we've not exactly had the relationship-status conversation. 

And then there was the whole issue with Harry and nightmares and Draco reacting badly, which we haven’t talked about either. In actuality, I don’t think we’ve had a single conversation since that night. It was almost two weeks ago, and I’ve waited up each night to see if Draco will appear, but he never did. He has all the power for when we can talk, because there’s no way I’m walking into the Slytherin Common Room looking for him.

Admittedly, I can see why Snape was pissed at Cassia and me. 

"I think he's figured out who my real family are, were," I correct, trying not to lean to Harry with Draco sitting right there. "When Cassia spoke directly into his mind, she pulled out some memories of his, completely accidentally. She automatically searches anyone's memory for connections to our family, and-" My grip on the sofa was turning my knuckles white, rage settling into the little strength I have left. "Snape killed my mother."

"I'm going to kill him!" Three identical shouts erupted as the three boys stood up indignantly, before all looking back to me apologetically. Hermione's eyes flicked between me and Draco, and panic hit me. I don't think I can deal with that revelation right now.

"Malfoy knows about this?" Ron spluttered indignantly, and I nodded.

"I may have entirely gone off on one at him at the start of the year about him me looking after Cassia being none of his concern," I admit quietly, hating that I'm lying to them and Draco rolls his eyes. He clearly remembers that conversation at the start of the year and doesn't object out loud to how that conversation actually went. "He figured it out when I mentioned the attack on a pureblood family."

A crying reaches all of our ears from upstairs, and I'm on my feet in an instant, adrenaline from Cassia's suffering spurring my limbs into action as I run, ignoring the protests from behind me, and the protests from my body, too. I climb into Cassia's bed without hesitation, pulling her close to me and murmuring calming nonsense until her tears cease.

With my explosion of magic earlier, I can't reach into her mind and suppress the memory as I would usually, so I settle for just comforting her physically, internally annoyed at myself for my lack of ability to help.

***

When I wake, it's very late, and Cassia has disappeared, though the wards tell me she's downstairs with Hermione. I throw on clean clothes, _Scourgify_ the tear tracks off my face and head downstairs, Hermione looking up from where she and Cassia are colouring pictures.

"'Mione, it's late, you should be..." I trail off as she gives me a pointed look. I concede, joining them on the floor, and Hermione hugs me fiercely.

"Don't you scare us like that again, Maeve, we had no idea when you'd wake up, and when Cassia came down without you, she wouldn't let us go up and see you." A small smile graces my lips, and she hesitates before she continues; "If you and Draco are happy, then I'm happy for you."

Guilt washes over me as I realise I had nothing to worry about with Hermione reacting badly. Ron and Harry though ... based on their reactions earlier to Draco, I doubt they're in accepting moods.

Hermione coaxed tea into me, and Cassia showed me her drawing of a princess, which, with a wave of my wand, I animated to curtsey at us, and Cassia giggled happily. In her distraction, I take the memory from earlier out of her mind, removing it entirely. She doesn't need to remember that, she's only little.

"I will tell Harry and Ron at some point," I assure Hermione as the silence stretched to the point of awkwardness.

"Should we dope them up with a Calming Draught first?" Hermione joked, and I nodded, deadly serious. "No, Maeve," Hermione reminded me, and I pouted.

In his absence, I realise I could really use Draco right now, just to help work through all the revelations of today but I have no intention for either Hermione or me to go to the Slytherin common room and demand to see him. That wouldn't go down well by any stretch of the imagination. And since my magic is still pretty exhausted, I don’t want to risk trying to reach out mentally across the castle.

"Where did the boys go?" I ask, though Hermione and I both know I mean _why_ did they go.

"The three of them wouldn't stop arguing, and it very nearly elapsed into a full-out fight, and there were a lot of insults thrown around, and Malfoy, presumably for your benefit, left before any of them could say something irredeemable. And I sent Ron and Harry off because I knew they'd fly off the handle as soon as you woke up, which I didn't think would be great for your health, or magic," Hermione reasons, and I have to admit, I'm proud of Draco for backing down in a fight against Harry and Ron for my sake. It feels great to know that in the near future, this whole feud could be entirely behind us.

And that, despite our lack of communication, he still cares. And that’s maybe the best thing of all.

"How long did Cassia sleep for this afternoon?" I ask, and Hermione pauses, considering.

"Maybe two hours?"

When my ring lights up with the name Severus Snape, I flinch. "'Mione, can you take Cassia upstairs?" Carefully guarding my tone, I hug Cassia, blocking her connection to me only one-way, so that she's entirely out of the picture should Snape try and mentally attack me as some sort of revenge. Hermione gives me a concerned look but agrees to keep Cass out of this, hurrying upstairs as Snape stalks through the door.

He's less pale than he was earlier, and the initial shock is masked with a deadly expression. I refuse to show him how much he scares me as I stand, willing my hands not to shake as much as I know they could be.

"Miss Ellis, I believe we have a situation to discuss." His words are distinct, clearly pronounced in an effort to sound vaguely cordial. It’s not particularly convincing. I nod slightly and offer him a seat, which he takes after a moment of deliberation.

He regards me warily, which I suppose is fair in the current circumstances.

"Never in my life has someone been able to penetrate my mind without my intention, and now I find myself in a situation where a child has seen memories of mine." Snape was almost disbelieving in his tone, and I am silently glad for the event, knowing it knocked the bastard's ego down a peg or three. No one deserves to be that cocky, even if he is a spy. A spy for which side, I can’t say. Maybe he’s playing some big game for Dumbledore. Or maybe it’s a game for Voldemort. Either way, I don’t trust the bastard with Cassia.

"I can only apologise for what Cassia did; she's too little to understand the ramifications of her actions, and I accept full responsibility for the event, Sir," I say, desperate for him to leave her out of it.

I feel I need to reassure him somehow that she's not normally like this, she doesn't have this kind of power normally, but with Snape's Legilimency skills, I know he won't believe a thing I say. I'm almost surprised he hasn't made the direct connection to the Walters with me.

A quick scan of his mind shows me he’s not thought of the Walters and me in that sense – I guess he’s putting it down that Cassia just latched onto anything she could find, rather than something specific.

"I've taken the steps to remove what she saw from her memories - I trust you know what she saw, Professor?" Snape nods jerkily. "And I will do everything in my power to make sure it doesn't happen again, with anyone."

"I wish to speak with the child."

"No!" Snape's eyes narrow at my tone, and I'm sitting bolt-upright in my seat, fear evident on my face. I breathe out an apology, schooling my face into a neutral expression. "Cassia is my responsibility; I am her guardian and I don't deem it necessary for you to speak with her on this issue." I've crossed into dangerous territory, and I feel the need to reign it back into some realm of respect.

"Put me in detention for the rest of the year, Sir, but Cassia is a child, under my protection and I will have no one in her mind except myself." I wait for Snape to take the detention offer, but he simply softens his expression slightly, so marginally that I wouldn't have noticed unless I'd tuned into his emotional responses, unknown to him, of course.

As Snape formulates his response, I check on the wards upstairs, and Cass and Hermione have fallen asleep together in Cassia's room, and I smile faintly.

"Something amusing?" he snaps at me, and I release the wards with a slight jolt, and I shake my head in response. He narrows his eyes, but lets it slide before continuing: "Dumbledore has requested I train Mr Potter in Legilimency; I request your presence there also." My insides clench at the thought of spending extra time with Snape, for mental training no less, and I acquiesce as readily as I can. Disrespecting him further at this point is borderline suicidal.

Though, I would love to say that I’ll teach Harry myself. Wouldn’t that wipe the smirk off his face?

Without so much as a goodbye, Snape sweeps out of the room, and I lean forward, resting my head in my hands.

Bugger.

***


	14. Arguments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none really :)

***

I leave Hermione asleep with Cassia, and instead, bring out some of my homework for next week, and begin a Transfiguration essay due this week, summoning relevant textbooks and notes. By the time I've finished, it's almost midnight. Having slept most of the afternoon, I'm not at all tired, and I have a sudden urge to go outside, just to walk around the grounds. I repress it, knowing Snape could catch me at any minute, and I've already gotten away with enough today without trying to push my luck further.

Starting with reading a new Runic Alphabet that we'd be covering soon, I worked steadily throughout the whole night and managed to do almost all the work I have due next week, other than Defence, which is due Friday so there's plenty of time for that.

At about six am, Draco's at the door, and he throws his arms around me immediately, not trying to make this into anything more than comforting. He pulls away when he surveys the stacks of schoolbooks everywhere and gives me a disapproving look.

"I slept all afternoon, okay, I'm fine," I assure him, and Draco concedes, allowing me to drag him to the sofa. I don’t want to tell him I don’t sleep as well without him; that’s not a can of worms I want to open right now. He’s got a right to space when another man was sleeping in my bed.

Even if that other man was Harry, who’d just had his introduction to Legilimency, and there was no way I was sending him back to his dorm. If he hadn’t been able to open the memories back up, then that would have been fairly disastrous.

This was a special circumstance, but Draco hadn’t stayed long enough for me to explain properly.

He offers to proof-read my transfiguration essay, which I take him up on the offer of instantly, and I settled down to read the potions chapter we'd be covering in class today. If Snape’s mad at me, then I might as well not humiliate myself with a lack of knowledge.

With Draco right there, I struggle to keep my focus on the chapter, and I snap the book shut after having read the same paragraph about five times and still not knowing its contents. I want to have the conversation that’s been playing on my mind, and since he’s here, and I don’t know when he’ll be here again, this feels like the right time to try and explain.

"Draco, I'm sorry, about the other night, I- it's complicated," I sigh, frustrated at my inability to communicate this properly. “Harry get nightmares from the scar, it’s a connection to Voldemort, and with my family background on Legilimency, I was just trying to help …”

Draco shifts around so he's facing me directly, and there's clear guilt in his eyes. "Maeve, if you can help Potter suppress his connection to the Dark Lord, I'm not going to stop you." I blink, blaming the slowness of my brain on my tiredness, but I'm pretty sure he just came close to caring about Harry. Wow.

"I swear to you, it's nothing more than that," I promise, and Draco nods, humming slightly as he turns back to my transfiguration essay, pressing a soft kiss into my hair. I watch him carefully, and he’s not truly reading the essay.

I prise the parchment from his hands and give him a look. “Knut for your thoughts?” I ask gently, and his overcast-grey eyes meet mine.

“Can’t read them for yourself?” he snaps, and I sit up, pulling myself away from him. I’m beginning to see more and more why my family kept to themselves. People don’t like Legilimens. Well, more like don’t trust them. 

I stand up, working hard to keep my breathing regular. Refusing to let the emotion spill out of me, I pull my knees up to my chest in an armchair, staring at the dying embers of the fire.

“If you don’t trust me … I’m not forcing you to be here,” I state blankly, and risk a glance at Draco, inhaling sharply as he stood up.

“Maeve, I want to be here,” he whispers as he walks towards me. “But it’s something I have to get used to the idea of. I like what we have going here, and I know I’ve been a prick for avoiding you, but I was trying to understand what was going on. Surrendering power is a big deal to me, Maeve, and I trust you, Maeve, I really do. But anyone can lose control sometimes, and that’s my burden to come to terms with.”

During his little speech, he kneels down by the chair, taking my hand, his emotions entirely overwhelming me. That is one bit of my family power I can’t really control. Reading emotions for me is the same as reading their facial expressions – I can’t just _not look_. It’s not that simple.

“Draco, I can’t change who I am,” I say simply, and he quickly shakes his head.

“I’m not asking you to. None of this is on you; I just need to get over all the prejudices I’ve been taught. I want us to work, Maeve,” Draco continued earnestly, and I managed a smile, relaxing my tight grip on my legs. 

He stands, leaning over to press a chaste kiss to my lips, and I reach up to him, unfolding my legs to stand and meet him. He pulls my body close to his, cupping my face as we kiss, breaching new barriers as the emotions carried between us are nothing but true desire and love.

I made a point of transmitting emotion to him, as he does to me without thinking, and when he pulls away, he’s giving me a real smile.

“Thank you,” he murmurs to me, and I amplify my gratitude, making a point of sharing everything I’m feeling, omitting nothing. He rolls his eyes a little, but under that I know he truly likes it. Making a mental note to do it more often when we’re alone, I kiss him again, and he responds eagerly.

He’s the one to pull away, the voice of reason telling me that Cassia (and Hermione, though he doesn’t know it yet) is upstairs and could emerge at any minute. When we settle back on the sofa, I take out my wand and reignite the fire, and Draco examined my slumped posture.

“I was only wondering, earlier, if you and Potter ever did, ever were more than friends.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Not that it’s any of my business, but I was just curious, if a little jealous,” he remarks quickly.

In the interest of complete honesty, I nod once. “We hooked up in fourth year, once, that’s all.” Draco doesn’t make a comment and pulls me into him instead, kissing the top of my head.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says after a few moments’ silence. I’m beginning to wonder if we just need to be honest with each other more, and then maybe this has a chance of actually working out. No more dramatic reveals of long-kept secrets should be good for us.

***

When Cassia came bounding in about twenty minutes we ended the impromptu make-out session, we've shuffled around so I'm entirely leaning against Draco, and his hands are playing in my hair. I have to admit that despite my insistence to Draco, I'm almost asleep when Cassia jumps into my lap, and I hug her close, still feeling guilty from yesterday being unable to protect her, despite the fact she can't recall any of the horrible things she saw.

When Hermione descends the stairs, Draco freezes, but I kiss him softly in reassurance and say: "'Mione figured it out yesterday when you were so quick to jump to my defence. And thank you for not arguing with Harry and Ron yesterday."

Hermione snorted with laughter before Draco could say a thing, and she shrugged.

"I'm not sure I'd say he didn't argue, but when Ron went after Draco's family, he left before it could get any more serious," Hermione explained, and I kissed him again, and Hermione made an exasperated huffing sound.

"Just because I'm not objecting on the principle of our history, doesn't mean I want to see it," she grimaced, and after a pause, I thanked her for looking after Cass last night. I’d wager a guess that it’s the first time I’ve left Cassia sleeping next to someone else, and it couldn’t have gone better.

"I almost forgot, what did Snape want?"

I feel Draco stiffen under me, and I grab his hand. "I've been roped into Harry's Legilimency training sessions, I think for the sole purpose of getting back at me for this whole thing. But he's not to come anywhere near Cassia, or, as he wishes to, put up mental blocks in her himself." I bit my lip, and Draco rubbed my hand encouragingly, and I could feel it shaking in his grip.

Not that I think he could put up shields – if Cassia refused then I doubt she’d let him. But I also don’t want to show him that kind of power, for a six-year-old to completely reject his intervention is a clear post-mark to too-much-power territory.

 _Can we play with bubbles?_ Cassia's voice was stronger than usual in my mind, and I really hope that wasn't related to anything that's gone on with Snape in the last day. Or my explosion of power – I don’t think it could affect her like that, but then again, I’m not entirely sure.

 _Okay, baby, do you want to go and choose some toys?_ I encourage, and she leaps off me, somewhat startling Hermione.

"I should be getting back to the Gryffindor Tower," Hermione concedes as Cassia runs upstairs, and I grab her hand as she goes past, whispering another thank you, which she brushes off with a quick, "Anytime, Maevey."

When I try to stand, Draco pulls me back, keeping me firmly in his arms, and I relent easily, turning around. He's got a worried look on his face, and I lean my head into his chest. The steady rising and falling soothes my nerves about the coming week, specifically Potions this morning.

"Okay, so you clearly have something to say," I start, and I pause, thinking of Cassia, and how this might work. "And I have to look after Cassia in the bath-" Draco's face goes mildly horrified as he mentally finishes my sentence, and I shake my head.

"Oh, Godric, not like that," I laugh, "There are such things as privacy charms," I remind him, and he acquiesced, though still doesn't let go of my hand as we head upstairs, where Cassia is waiting impatiently for me.

Surprisingly enough, for Cassia anyway, she doesn't seem that awkward at Draco's presence as I cast a privacy ward so that neither of them can see the other, whilst I can still through both.

Once she’s settled and playing happily, I'm sat on the stone steps leading up to the bath, one hand through the ward to play with the bubbles with her. I turn to Draco, who's standing a little awkwardly, only just inside the door. Maybe this wasn't my greatest idea, but it was the only compromise I could come up with that quickly.

"I think you should skip Potions this morning," Draco blurts out, and I raise an eyebrow in his direction. "You know what Severus is like - privacy is basically his top priority at all times, and you've just uncovered something about him that people don't know; he's going to be on the attack all morning."

I roll my eyes. "Then I'm going to have to give him no reason to pounce; he can't punish me, hold on-" I stop the thought in its tracks. "Since when is he Severus?" Draco shifts uncomfortably, and I silently increase the wards on the bathroom door so he can't run out on me.

When I think back, he’s always been Severus to Draco, but it’s never quite hit me, or I’ve always just ignored the familiarity. Maybe I put it down to being in Slytherin before?

"He's my godfather," Draco muttered, not looking at me, and I can't help the stunned expression on my face. _Draco's family is the reason I have none._ The thought flies through my head without my intention, and I'm quick to throw it out, though I feel it resting somewhere in the back of my mind.

By the time I've processed it, Draco's realised he can't get out of the room and is staring at the floor, looking a mixture of angry and upset. And guilty. So guilty.

"Draco," I start softly, "I promised you, I'm not going to hold anyone else's actions against you, family or no family." I hold my hand out, and he walks over slowly, taking it hesitantly. "It's their mistake, not yours," I assure him, and when his eyes meet mine, they're filled with pain.

He swallows carefully. “How do you forgive me so easily when I so quickly judge or lash out at you on your … family skill?”

“Unbearably naïve Gryffindor?” I joke, and he rolls his eyes. “Okay, well, in all seriousness, the situations are completely different. It was your father’s and Snape’s choice, their actions, which are no reflect on you,” I explain, and he’s quick to interrupt.

“But you can’t control your genetics!”

“And without a lot of legal magical paperwork, you can’t control who your parents are either!” I fire back, and I feel a tug on my hand. Sticking my head through the wards, I warm up the water again for Cassia, adding a Stasis charm to keep it at the perfect temperature, and summon a few extra toys, since she’s enjoying herself so much.

She flicks bubbles at my face, and I poke her stomach back, earning squeals of giggles.

Turning back to Draco, I watch carefully as the underlying rage simmers just below the point of boiling over.

“What your family did is not your fault,” I insist, and his shoulders slump, finally conceding. I doubt a Malfoy concedes that quickly, especially Draco, based off that past five years, and I know this isn’t going away any time soon.

Feeling like we could all do with a mood boost, I lightly enchant a cloud of bubbles to fly through the ward, and they land on Draco's hair, and I can't help but giggle. He looks distinctly unimpressed, but some of the pain has fled his expression, and he swipes at the bubbles, before looking at me in confusion.

"Where's your wand?" Bugger. It's under the sleeve of my jumper, in the hand that's holding his. I conjure a replica in my other hand, that's through the ward, and pull my arms through, showing him. He believes me, or at least appears to, and I use it to take down the wards barring him from leaving the bathroom, and send him off to breakfast with a quick kiss, before summoning Cassia a towel.

She was thoroughly amused at my conjuring of a fake wand and screamed in excitement as I dressed her in her favourite fairy outfit as a treat for staying quiet, and I slip my real wand under my robes as I get dressed. Wordless magic is fine to flaunt, but wandless? That's a dead give-away that I've got much more power than I probably should, and I wouldn't want to give Draco another reason to get left behind on the power-scale. Already with the Legilimency and Occlumency, I don't need to add more to that.

And as much as Harry, Ron and Hermione have all reacted well to the revelation after various DA meetings, it's not something everyone needs to know.

 _Draco’s not everyone,_ a voice in my head reminds me, and I sigh. He barely reacted well to the Legilimency. I don’t want to scare him off after yet another tentative truce made this morning.

***

I get through Potions relatively easily and my mental connection with Ron saved a lot of embarrassment, and mess, from occurring. I was making sure to check into my mental shields every so often, and there was no sign of damage, or even unwanted presence in their vicinity.

Of course, this could be Snape playing the long game and trying to catch me when I let my guard down, but all I can really do is be grateful I got through this class.

The actual act of brewing potions is quite enjoyable – Snape’s leering presence, less so. When McGonagall asked during our OWLs last year about career plans, I briefly considered doing a Potions Mastery, but then I realised Snape was the only Master in the UK.

Not that I’m opposed to travelling, but since Cassia is now my responsibility, it doesn’t seem very likely to happen. Maybe when she attends Hogwarts for herself, I’ll consider it.

Careers weigh heavily on my mind during lunch, and I realise that after Hogwarts, I have no idea what I could, or want, to do. When I voice my thoughts to the others, Harry and Ron immediately proclaim the want to be Aurors, and Hermione, though equally indecisive, piles me up with reading lists on magical professions, and I’m more than slightly overwhelmed.

The afternoon I spend with Draco; Harry and Ron disappeared off to fly, and Cassia’s not yet back to the point where she wants to join in with that. And I’m inclined to keep her on the ground for a little while longer.

I write a letter to Molly about looking after children, and the whole fussy eater situation, because I’m at a loss for who else I can ask. I hope she doesn’t think it’s weird.

“Was everything okay in Potions? I didn’t notice anything amiss with Severus,” asked the Slytherin as I sealed up the envelope.

“Yeah, nothing out of the ordinary,” I proclaim, turning to the lists of magical careers Hermione provided.

I glance at Draco; his family have probably had his who life planned out since the pregnancy was announced. He catches my look, skimming the list in my hand, and shakes his head.

“Father wants me to go into politics, says he has enough connections to get me into the runnings for Minister by the time I’m thirty.” The words were filled with distaste, and I lean my head on his shoulder.

“And, since it should be up to you, what then? You can have any magical job in the world; what do you choose?”

He considers my words carefully, slowly, and says in a small voice, “I’d like to be a solicitor, work as a Prosecutor, if I had free range of choice.”

Exhaling slowly, I try and understand his words. Being a prosecutor is an obvious career for Draco, that’s simple enough. It’s the lack of choice, the lack of control he has of his own future. I recognise it from my own childhood, but nothing to the same extreme as Draco’s. Maybe it would have come with age for my family; they were very insistent on my Pureblood education, and there was a focus on my control of Legilimency skills.

“Can you try talking to him? Make him see it’s not what you want?”

Draco scoffs at the suggestion, and I take a deep breath, reminding myself he’s not really annoyed at me. Just at his father.

“Lucius Malfoy doesn’t compromise,” he stated blankly, and I squeeze his hand.

“Resigning yourself to his choice doesn’t seem very Slytherin,” I remark, and Draco turns sharply to me, expression softening when he sees I’m only joking.

“What about you? Where are you headed after Hogwarts?”

I shrug. It’s the best answer I can give right now. Honestly, being an Auror seems like the easy path out of Hogwarts, the easy answer. I’m studying the right subjects, I’ve got the magical skill, but there’s just something about it that doesn’t click. After the eventual war that’s coming, I don’t think I will want to see any more violence.

“We’ve got two years; I don’t want to even think about it now.” I throw the list down onto the table, exasperatedly lean back into my chair. I’m exhausted. My messed-up sleep over the weekend is catching me, and I cover my yawn.

I check my homework list, and see only the Potions assignment from today that I scrawled onto it before lunch. I push my books away from me, folding my arms and using them as a pillow, eyes blinking slowly, heavy with sleep.

Draco chuckles. “Maybe somewhere more comfortable, Maeve?”

“Can’t be bothered,” I mumble back, and I can practically feel him rolling his eyes at me.

An arm curls underneath my legs, and around my back, and Draco lifts me, seemingly effortlessly, and moves me to the sofa, summoning a blanket. I blink blearily, taking in Cassia painting on the rug, and Draco’s soft smile as he drapes the Gryffindor red-and-gold blanket over me.

“Stay,” I whisper, and Draco nods, kissing me gently, and I fall into unconsciousness.

***

“Maevey!” I’m woken by Cassia, and then Draco rapidly shushing her. My eyes snap open, and I sit, head rushing slightly as my body protests the sudden movement.

Stretching out my cramping muscles, I catch myself checking out the Slytherin seated at the table, who’d loosened his tie, and kicked off his shoes. It’s surprisingly domestic for Draco, and he looks fairly at ease, or at least as at ease as you can when completing difficult Arithmancy problems.

He’s got a very specific expression for how he looks when he’s struggling to make sense of something, and that only ever happens in the educational context in Arithmancy class. Since he sits behind me in that class, it strikes me that I must have noticed it before this year; we were both in the OWLs class together, but I don’t recall crushing on him before this year.

“See something you like?” smirked Draco, and I rolled my eyes, throwing a pillow at him with surprising accuracy.

“Just you, love,” I respond, throwing the blanket off me and joining Cassia on the rug, enchanting her pictures to move about, and make silly faces. She giggled gleefully, and I grabbed a new sheet of parchment, flicking on the radio idly with my wand.

Despite that I can do wandless magic, using my wand is still something I like, and I would do, even if I wasn’t trying to hide my ability. There’s a different feeling using a wand; the magic flows through a channel and is much more controlled than the instinctual way of wandless magic. I’d probably say it’s safer too, but with any magic, practice brings control, and wandless magic is something relatively new for me.

Plus, I am trying to hide it. Another valid reason.

I sketch a hippogriff from memory, focussing in on Buckbeak as I create a rough outline of his head, detailing the sharpness of the beak, the texture of the feathers, beadiness of his eyes.

I just about keep my pencil steady when Draco places a hand on my back, lying down on the rug beside me.

“Since when were you an artist?”

I shoot him a disbelieving look. “Hardly artistry – I always get bored before I can complete anything. Besides, it’s not exactly a respected profession among wizards.” I remember a row with Mother when I was about six, maybe seven, when she found my sketchbooks. They went in the fire, and I underwent more and more Legilimency training to compensate for all the hours I’d wasted drawing pictures, when I should have been honing my skills and learning to get them under control for when I went to Hogwarts.

I relay the argument to Draco, whose arm snakes around my shoulders and pulls me closer to him. I turn and look into those silver-grey orbs and a small laugh escapes me. He furrows his brow slightly at my seemingly-random burst.

“How’d a Gryffindor like me end up falling for a Slytherin like you, and had it actually work out?” I wondered aloud, answering his unasked question, and he rolled his eyes.

“I think we’ve got a way to go before we can declare it to have worked out completely,” he responds honestly, and then panic floods his eyes. “Not that I don’t want it to work out, and I’m definitely sticking around, I mean, if you’ll let me-”

I cut off his frantic words with a short kiss, still aware of Cassia close by. The bell rang signalling the end of afternoon classes as we broke apart, and I sent Cassia upstairs to wash some of the paint off her face, and turned to Draco.

“I want this to work out too, love,” I whisper to him, pushing myself to sit up. “Although, if we ever stop arguing completely, I will be deeply concerned,” I added, straight-faced, and Draco burst out with laughter.

“Touché, Walters, touché.” I froze slightly, and the grin instantly slipped from Draco’s face. Slowly a smile spread across my face, my old name, my true name bringing an indescribable joy into my mind.

“You know how good it sounds to hear my name?” I ask rhetorically, and a content sigh escapes me as I stand. Offering Draco my hand, he takes it, rolling his eyes, and I pull him in close, sealing our lips, intensity brought by the momentum of the movement, and the unexpected confidence on my part.

When footsteps start on the stairs, I break away, standing on my toes to hug the Slytherin. He’s gradually melted into the gestures, and returns it quickly, squeezing me reassuringly as he lets go.

“Can I come back after curfew?” he asks, as he’s almost at the door. I hold my tongue, settling only for a slight smirk as I nod.

He shakes his head slowly at my devious expression and heads out the portrait-hole without another word. Cassia comes into view, paint still all over her, and I laugh, picking up my sister and throwing her over my shoulder, much to her squeals of delight, and head back to the bathroom.

As much a blue paint-splats all over her face isn’t necessarily a bad look on Cassia, it’s not the one I want to broadcast to the school.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're liking this, why not leave a comment, or just press that little kudos button to let me know you're here? 
> 
> \- Caity B xx


	15. Hogsmede

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: slightly emotional family scene, I guess that's a warning? other than that nothing really.
> 
> Enjoy!

***

The week is a blur of classwork, Quidditch, and spending as much time as I can with friends. Thankfully, I’ve managed to get through the whole week with no so much as a threat of detention, and since it’s the first Hogsmede weekend, Saturday morning breakfast is probably the busiest one of the year so far.

Hermione and Ron, as prefects, are helping chaperone third and fourth years to and from Hogsmede, and Harry, Cassia and I are going to meet them in the Three Broomsticks when they handover at lunchtime to the fifth-years.

Despite my initial reservations about taking Cassia to Hogsmede, I’ve decided I want to bring her along, purely on the basis that she needs time away from the castle, and out of our quarters. Yes, I do my best to make sure she’s not spending all her time there, or in Gryffindor Tower, but there is a limit to how often I can do that.

So, I’m taking the opportunity today.

Harry and I leave a little later than the first years, after a detour back up to Gryffindor Tower when Harry realised he had forgotten his cloak. We’re fully into winter weather here, and the cloak is definitely advised.

Cassia’s all bundled up in scarf, gloves, hat, winter boots, cloak and then a couple of layers of jumpers. I know we could just use warming charms, but I’d rather not let my sister get used to constant magic too early on, and then have her forget, like most purebloods, how to do things without magic.

Especially if we’re still acting like Muggleborns at that point.

The walk to the village is a slow one, and this morning Cassia is full of complaints. She had been in an awful mood at breakfast, despite the cheer in the air, and kept mentally asking for Draco. Although I’m glad she didn’t ask aloud, I couldn’t exactly march her over to the Slytherin table and ditch her on Draco’s lap.

If I wanted to make a statement, sure, but I really don’t.

I tried everything I could to cheer her up, and Harry, bless him, gave her a piggyback half-way to Hogsmede when she refused to walk any further. He promised me he didn’t mind, and I let him, falling into step beside him.

When we reached the main high street of the village, Cassia clambers off Harry’s back, watching the busy street in wonder. I take her hand in mine – one of the few conditions from me for bringing her here – and we walk at a slow pace down the crowded street.

Unsurprisingly, the enticing sugary smells wafting from the open door of Honeydukes is the first thing to catch her attention, and we head inside, finding the floor of the shop crowded with half of the third years.

The sickly sweet aroma stifling the Honeydukes shop is an acquired taste. Both Cassia and Harry love it, me not so much. I promise Cassia four galleons worth of sweets – an obscene amount really for a six-year-old, but I know I spent way more than that on my first trip here in third-year, and I am hardly going to hold her back.

I’ll remind her not to eat them all at once later.

She chooses a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans, despite the assurance that some of them would be grim. Cassia was on a high like no other and wasn’t prepared to listen to a voice of reason. Harry grimaced slightly at the sight of them in the basket.

When we left the shop, between us we had amassed a collection of chocolate frogs, and cauldrons, many flavours of toffees, sugar quills, a couple of packs of chewing gum and the single box of every-flavour beans. I threw the lot in my satchel, bewitched with a feather-light charm, and we manoeuvred Cassia reluctantly away from the enticing shop.

Harry wanted to head to Quality Quidditch Supplies, and I appeased Cassia with a chocolate cauldron, since her anti-Quidditch and anti-flying feelings were still very much in place. He bought some new leather gloves for matches, and momentarily, the display of children’s broomsticks caught my eye. Maybe this would be a way to ease Cassia back into flying? I don’t want to turn one event into a life-long fear.

I drag myself away (with a little help from my impatient, and chocolate-smeared sister) and wave my wand to remove the mess from her face. Next door is the bookshop, Tomes and Scrolls, and I head in, Harry and Cassia trailing slightly behind as I attempt to find what I’m looking for.

The Hogwarts library is sorely lacking in material on Animagus transformations, probably since the Marauders managed it in their fifth year, and the idea has become somewhat enticing lately. It would be the ultimate cover for me as Maeve Walters. I just want to know, theoretically if it’s even possible. Because, I could register as an Animagus as Maeve Ellis, and then Maeve Walter’s record is clean of any disguises.

Although, I think Maeve Walter’s record says she’s dead. Regardless, it’s a good disguise.

“Oh Harry, stop complaining,” I reprimand as we leave the shop, desired book tucked away in my satchel, and he puts his hands up in innocence. “If it’s Hermione and I, then you’ve got to worry. Me on my own, I can be efficient in bookshops.”

Harry halts his complaining, and we find Ron and Hermione, both looking more-than-slightly exasperated, but happily not accompanied by any third-years.

“And how are the little darlings?” I joke, as soon as they’re close enough to hear. Ron shoots me a glare, and Hermione just looks exhausted.

“I don’t envy the fifth-years who have to shepherd them back to the castle later,” Hermione sighed with relief, and we unanimously headed towards the Three Broomsticks.

The pub was as busy as ever, and we just about managed to find a table. I scanned the room, eyes latching onto Draco, and his fellow Slytherins all in a corner booth.

“Um, you’re staring,” Hermione nudged me, and I snapped my eyes away, looking to her. The boys were at the bar, ordering some butterbeers for us all, and Hermione shook her head slowly at me. “I know they’re unobservant, but I think even Ron might notice something if you spend this afternoon staring at the Slytherins.”

Playfully I roll my eyes at her, and I hand Cassia a sugar quill as she starts to protest us sitting down in the pub. I grab out some colouring stuff just for good measure, and soon enough she’s entertaining herself.

The pub itself is pretty busy with non-students too, and Madam Rosmerta looks both happy and mildly stressed at the busy bar. A smile creeps onto my face when I spot so many groups of mixed houses – maybe the separation and rivalry is going to finally start falling apart? Could Draco’s and my relationship help that, maybe?

Harry and Ron return with butterbeer, and I gratefully accept the drink, wrapping my cold hands around the tankard.

Ron grins at my expression. “Glad you came back, Maevey?”

“I never _wanted_ to leave, but I couldn’t leave her,” I remind him, and Ron concedes, drinking from his tankard. A silence falls at our table, supplemented by the noise of all the other drinkers around us, and I crinkle my brow in confusion. “Did you think I didn’t want to come back?”

Hermione shuffles uncomfortably, Ron directly avoids my eyes and Harry takes a long drink from his butterbeer.

“Right then,” I mutter, forcing a smile as Cassia thrust a drawing in my face.

“Maeve, you ignored us all summer; we made our own assumptions about what was going on,” Hermione reasoned, and I stared down at the table.

“You know I couldn’t have said anything? It had to be a secret, I mean, if an owl had been intercepted …” I trail off, glancing around. We really shouldn’t be having this conversation here, in the middle of a busy pub where anyone could be listening.

“I want to share something with you,” I say abruptly, and as they look at me, I gently tap the side of my head. Forging the mental link, I pull from my memory finding Cassia at the beginning of that summer, and the conversation I had with Aunt Hannah.

_The scene unfolds like we’re watching it through a pensieve. I can’t gauge any of their reactions too easily as I concentrate on playing the memory through._

_We’re in Aunt Hannah’s living room, filled with Muggle technology, books, photographs. A slightly younger me is sitting tensely on the sofa, hands clasped over her knees to stop them shaking. Aunt Hannah had just sent Cassia upstairs so we could talk alone._

_“Maeve, your sister needs you, needs magical care. We both know I can’t do that.” Hannah speaks softly, and my face is a perfect mask._

_“What about Hogwarts? My friends? My education? I’m supposed to give it all up because you can’t handle her Legilimency?” My voice is rough, and I hate the words I’m saying. It was never Hannah’s choice to not be able to teach Cassia Legilimency; she’s a squib, she can’t do magic. That’s not her fault, nor her choice._

_“Family comes first, Maeve, you know that. The three of us are the last of the Walters, and I was disowned long before you were born. That leaves you and Cassia. Sisters have to stick together,” she reasoned to me, and my chest constricts at the loss I’m feeling all over again._

_“I can’t leave my friends behind,” I’d said in a quiet voice, and Hannah placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “They are too important to me.”_

_“You have to. There’s no other option. Cassia being a Walters must be kept secret, and owls are too likely to be intercepted.” Hannah’s tone was final, and I knew I couldn’t argue further._

Pulling us all out of the memory was easy enough, and I quickly wiped at my eyes. Hermione takes my hand where it’s resting on the table, and squeezes it gently.

“I always wanted to come back,” I say earnestly, and Harry nods, clearly believing me. Exhaling in relief, I slump back into my chair, taking a drink from my butterbeer. Cassia, bless her, can sense something is off, and drops her crayons, hugging me intensely.

Over her head, I catch Draco’s eye, looking vaguely concerned. I shoot a brief reassuring grin in his direction, and turn back to our table, where Harry and Ron have struck up a Quidditch conversation. Hermione and I chat about Runes, mostly complaining from me about how many different alphabets we’re expected to memorise. She promises to help teach me, and when we finish our drinks, we head off to Scrivenshafts, leaving the boys in the pub.

I’m slightly uneasy about us all splitting up, but as long as neither of them do anything stupid, everything should be fine. And, there are a lot more professors around than usual. They’ll be alright for an hour or so, right?

Hermione’s already talking Christmas, despite it being mid-October, and I try not to roll my eyes too heavily at her. She buys a couple of new quills, and we mill idly about the town, the highstreet much clearer as the weather worsens, chills creeping all down the enclosed street. We make use of plenty of warming charms, despite all our layers. 

Wanting to miss the rush of third-years, we find Harry and Ron and head back up to the castle a little early. I end up carrying Cassia most of the way back, and my arms are beginning to ache when we reach the gates. For the short walk from the gates to the actual castle, Ron takes Cassia, and she almost falls asleep on his back as we chat.

Harry’s keen to make the most of Quidditch practice time with the first match of the season looming. This year, the order of the matches has been completely switched up, and the first one of the season is Gryffindor against Ravenclaw, on the first weekend of November, so in just over two weeks.

It’s both exciting and mildly terrifying, and I’m worried how Cassia will react to the crowds, being in the stands with Hermione and Neville. Hermione has already assured me she can cope with whatever mood Cassia throws at her, and I’m inclined to believe her.

After we sign back in, I split up from the others, heading down to my quarters to drop my satchel, and all the Honeydukes confectionery. Before I can head back up for dinner, Draco’s at the door, and I let him in, and he wordlessly pulls me into his arms.

“Merlin, Maeve, you know how worried I’ve been?”

He holds me at arms’ length, studying me for any signs that something’s wrong. I put on my best smile, and he relaxes, only a little.

“We just had a little … disagreement in the Three Broomsticks earlier, but it’s all fine now, I promise,” I try and persuade and Draco nods. I rise up onto my toes and kiss him, unhurriedly, taking in how he feels, the genuine concern that’s lingering mixed with the relief and desire that’s rapidly drowning the remaining concern.

When he pulls away, there’s a small, curious smile on his face. I raise an eyebrow in silent question.

“We should figure out a way of communicating without anyone knowing – it’ll stop the worrying if we can just speak to each other more easily,” he suggests, and I swallow carefully. His face drops marginally as I don’t react, and I’m quick to form my next words.

“I can do that. I’ve been thinking about it but-”

“But you didn’t want to freak me out,” Draco finishes for me and I nod.

He pauses, contemplating. “Will you give me a little time to think? I hadn’t thought about it in Legilimency terms,” he asks honestly, and I nod, leaning up to kiss him again before Cassia pulled at my arm. Draco jumps back slightly at her sudden presence, and I smirk.

“I’ll see you after dinner,” Draco promises and leaves the room, and I turn to Cassia, to see her giving me a stern look. Or, at least, as stern as a six-year-old can be when she’s got yet more chocolate smeared around her lips.

I sigh, magically vanishing the mess, and fall back onto the sofa, mind running at a hundred miles a minute.

***

I’m woken on Sunday morning to an alarm at the crack of dawn, a disgruntled Draco protesting the early hour. I press a kiss to his lips and climb out of his arms, sluggishly getting ready for Quidditch practice.

Sunday morning is notoriously the least popular slot for Quidditch practice, but Harry jumped at the opportunity for extra pitch time, with how many new members of the team we have.

Since I’m sure Draco is still fast asleep, I change quickly in my room, pulling on just some leggings and an athletic top out of my muggle wardrobe, and I throw my normal robe over the top of it. He spent both Friday and Saturday night in my bed, and I know I slept better with him right there. Maybe it was just that I finally knew we weren’t on bad terms. Midweek is difficult for us to work through, and Draco’s finding it difficult to keep sneaking away from his friends.

In some of the early mornings I’ve spent alone with Cassia, I’m finally getting on her Legilimency training, and though she’s got clear raw skill, it needs to be shaped and honed to her utmost control.

It’s difficult without all my family journals, but I have no real way of getting to them whilst I’m at Hogwarts. Maybe over Christmas break I should visit Walter Manor, and find them all. The idea of heading back to that house is kind of terrifying, and I don’t know if I’m up for it yet. At least, not alone, and with how the wards were created, I don’t know if others can enter.

The Walters have always taken pride in keeping their privacy.

Cassia’s good, and though I’m only doing the basics of starting to filter out some of the excess noise that no one needs to be hearing, it’s difficult to test her fully. And, I’ve got a few years before she’s going to Hogwarts for herself, that gives me enough time to help.

I kiss Draco’s sleeping forehead before heading out, checking in with Cassia. Waking her, and encouraging her to get ready, is difficult, but I don’t want to leave her here with Draco without at least mentioning it to him beforehand. Which I didn’t do, so Cassia’s got to come with me.

Our past week has been clear sailing; not a single insult thrown that might actually mean something. It’s our longest streak so far, and I’m hoping to make it last.

It’s nearly 6 am by the time I’m leaving my quarters, sleepy Cassia in my arms. I make my way across the castle quickly, meeting the team in the changing rooms, all of them looking about as tired as Cassia does. Though at the sight of Ginny, Cassia perks up, and clambers out of my arms.

On the pitch, Harry has a bludger, Quaffle and our two bats. Glancing over to check Cassia’s still settled in the stands, I confirm using the temporary wards that she’s okay, before returning my attention to the Quidditch Captain.

“I’ve got a little experiment I’d like to try out,” he starts once everyone’s on the pitch. “Half-pitch match, no snitch. Ron, you’re still Keeper for both, Seamus and Maeve I want to put you against each other, and the four of us will be Chasers, me and Katie against Dean and Ginny. Maeve, you’re beating for Dean and Ginny, Seamus for me and Katie.”

Seamus and I eye each other competitively. We’ve learnt to read each other’s plans so well, that I’m not really sure who’s a better Beater. It’s going to be interesting, that’s for sure.

Harry hands Seamus a bat, and I summon mine out his hand with a wink, taking to the sky as soon as the bat’s in my hand. I see Ginny and Dean whispering to each other, the words catching on the wind and disappearing forever as they firmly nod to each other, before taking off.

Harry and Katie briefly converse, and though Katie is an excellent Chaser, Harry doesn’t have masses of experience as anything other than a Seeker.

Ron takes his position in front of the hoop, looking a little nervous. He’s the only one just doing his normal job, and it will be good practice for him. Flying with the awkward Keeper armour must be quite different to flying normally, and despite all Ron’s practice with his older brothers, I can’t imagine it was high on the older Weasleys’ priority list.

Once we’re all the in air, Harry magically releases the bludger, and Ron throws the Quaffle as far as he can across the pitch, a Chaser from each team diving to catch it.

Seamus and I enter into this competitive almost-dance like manoeuvre as we try and predict the other’s movements, which for the most part is quite effective. Since we’ve been practising with the whole team, my tracking of other players, other than Seamus of course, has improved exponentially. Without using any types of Legilimency too.

Ginny whoops with joy as she scores against Ron, and Katie dives for the falling Quaffle, and I send the bludger flying away from Dean. Harry flies to back up his teammate, and Seamus whacks the bludger before it can hit Harry, conveniently also sending it directly at me.

I whir out of its way, swinging in a precise motion with my bat to hit the bludger, sending it spinning out towards Katie. The oncoming bludger, with Dean on the other side of me, knocks her off her desired course, the Quaffle falling perfectly to where Ginny is waiting to catch it. She and Dean pass it between them, avoiding Harry as he tries to intercept, and confusing Ron as they pass it quickly between each other.

Dean goes to score, but Ron, grasping their plan at the last second, saves the goal, throwing the Quaffle out to Katie, who catches it deftly, ducking out the way of the second bludger I sent at her.

The practice continued with only two more goals scored – another by Ginny, and one by Katie. Harry called us to a close soon after Ginny’s second goal, and Seamus froze the bludger, bringing it smoothly to the ground and into the box.

Cassia had managed to fall back to sleep, with the benches transfigured into soft sofas, and I wake her gently, collecting all the toys she hasn’t touched and throwing them into my discarded satchel. I take down the wards, and pick my sister up, slinging the satchel over my broom, which follows us obediently back up to the castle.

***

The rest of the morning passes with assignments, and McGonagall’s reminder at breakfast we should be considering our extra projects, which I know I completely had forgotten about.

We’re not supposed to ask for any help with our projects, and I spend a considerable portion of the day trying to come up with a list of ideas, anything I could work with. I want to turn in a Potions assignment, just so Snape can see I’m not a completely useless Gryffindor, but I’m struggling to come up with ideas within the realms of possibility.

Harry and Ron don’t return to my quarters after lunch (where we’d been working this morning) and instead choose to head to the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione, Cassia and I head off, and on the walk back, Hermione says nothing, her mind buzzing with a million thoughts a second.

It’s not me reading her mind; it’s the frantic aura surrounding her that’s the give-away.

“What’s going on in that clever brain of yours?” I finally ask as we enter my common room, Cassia immediately bounding off upstairs to retrieve her gymnastics mats.

She gives me a sideways look, and I protest my innocence. She just rolls her eyes, settling on the sofa, but not picking up any books. Okay, so there is something she wants to talk about.

“’Mione, it’s just me. Spill,” I instruct, and she laughs at my bluntness.

“Well, you remember how Lavender and Romilda are, always chatting about boys and well, you know,” she pauses, and I hold back a smirk at her awkwardness. She’s kind of adorable.

There were so many nights in that dorm where we stayed up late, with smuggled-in firewhiskey, or muggle alcohols someone’s family sent in, playing games of Never Have I Ever, or simply chatting about the boys we’d had sex with, and I usually participated, though rarely mentioned any names. If I’d told Romilda I’d had sex with Harry right around the time she was first crushing on him, big time, I might have had to start sleeping with one eye open for fear of being cursed in the night.

Hermione, the innocent one of the dorm, was constantly embarrassed by how casually (and explicitly) we’d discussed certain encounters, and I know more detail about Justin Finch-Fletchley than I ever need. Courtesy of Romilda.

“Sex?” I fill in for her and a blush creeps up her face.

“Yeah. I just, when is it the right time?”

I regard her carefully. “Every person is different, you know. I’m sure Lavender talks a lot more than she fucks, and there’s no time limit as to when the “right time” actually is,” I explain, and Hermione’s blush deepens.

“You really have no filter, do you? How isn’t Cassia swearing her head off already?” Hermione jokes, and I roll my eyes at her trying to distract me.

“Well, before you want to have sex, you need to find the right man, or woman, if you’re so inclined.” I give her a sweeping once-over. “Have you found someone?”

Hermione shakes her head, in apparent earnestness. I’m sure she’s got desires, crushes even, but there’s a leap between crushing and actually wanting to shag them.

“Have you and Draco …” she trails off, looking away from me.

“Not completely, no,” I say without a hint of embarrassment. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t feel any sense of shame surrounding the topic, though I’m not exactly sure how Draco would feel if I started giving any more details. I know Hermione doesn’t really want details – if she wanted them she could get more than enough from her dormmates. With a pang, I realise I used to be one of those dormmates, but I push the thoughts aside. “I have with Harry, and with Seamus. Neither of them were anything like what I have with Draco outside of the bedroom, so I don’t know what to expect with Draco. But casual sex can be good for you, if that’s something you want.”

Hermione’s very hesitant before her next statement. “There was a muggle boy, back home, between fourth and fifth year. I mean, he was cute and all, but I just didn’t want to have sex with him.”

“No one is forcing you, ‘Mione,” I remind her gently, and she nods wearily.

“Listening to Lavender and Romilda is possibly the most exhausting thing; it feels like every night they’ve got a crush to talk about, or a letter to dissect, or a kiss to relive in excruciating detail.”

I laugh in agreement and the conversation ends naturally, and we turn back to our books, and I stare at the blank list some more. No inspiration comes, and I eventually give up, moving to my Care of Magical Creatures bonus work.

We can submit as many bonus projects for as many subjects as we take, and I’m eager (if I can come up with the ideas and find the time) to try and complete as many as possible. I scrawl down a couple of ideas for Runes, and Charms, mostly to do with warding, which has become somewhat of an easy subject matter for me.

With both learning to intensely ward my quarters, and the prank, my reading on the subject has covered nearly all of the section on wards from the Hogwarts library. At least, the non-restricted sections ones.

I reckon I could probably get Flitwick’s signature if I run out of material. But for now, I’m turning my reading away from wards, and into the world of Animagi. The more I read on the subject, the more I’m convinced I should try it, maybe over the summer. Admittedly, it doesn’t give me a window in case it goes wrong, but it’s worth a shot.

And I’m intrigued what animal I would be. I mean, who isn’t?

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Caity B xx


	16. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: graphic depictions of death, swearing

***

_The courtyard is quiet as I walk through it, ivy growing up the walls, where the magic is finally falling to pieces, and the sheer force of nature is taking over. Locks on the doors are broken – if there’s even a door left in the frame – and loose stones litter the floor. I can’t turn back, turn away, even close my eyes, as my body moves through the courtyard, deadly silent and I descend the few stairs into the passageway heading for the Hall._

_It’s strange to see it empty, see no one running the halls, no elves scurrying around trying not to be seen. It’s unsettling. Eerie._

_Unable to make a sound, I traverse the familiar corridors, trying some of the doors, only to find them locked. Wandless, I can’t magically open them – I briefly attempted a wandless spell, but I’m depleted, empty, I can summon the force to perform the simplest spell._

_Dark magic hangs in the air, casting shadows from angles there is no light. I feel exposed, unnervingly defenceless as I catch sight of an open door, leading to a room I recognise all too well._

_Anxiety rose inside me, but my hands didn’t shake, my breathing didn’t grow quick and shallow, I managed to keep walking in a straight line._

_‘This is properly weird’ I tried to mutter to myself, but my voice wouldn’t make any sounds. Just bloody perfect._

_Somewhere in me, I know I must be dreaming, but I can’t shake the feeling that’s not quite right._

_Footsteps behind me startle me, and if I could have jumped, I would have. Instead, I’m frozen, unwillingly, back pressed up against the cold stone wall as I watch three death eaters in masks magically binding a levitating woman, her long auburn hair close to skimming the ground as she’s blindfolded, gagged, then magically knocked out completely. Ropes bind her wrists, her ankles, and there’s a trickle of blood falling from just below the base of her neck, where her robe is torn, revealing a long, reddened slash. Her right palm is red too, but with dried blood, and the wound itself looks like it’s starting to close. Or it would be, if the magical treatment had continued._

_Involuntarily, I follow them through the only open door, spotting a trace of magic lying in a wave on the floor, abruptly stopping, as though someone scrubbed it out._

_Three more death eaters await in the room, and a total of four more Walters are bound and gagged on the floor in front of them. My mother is deposited next to my father, and Severus Snape enervates her, removing the blindfold. She blinks slowly, taking in her surroundings, a grimace of a smirk growing around her gag._

_Snape eyes her nastily, and the man I know to be Lucius Malfoy casts the first curse, my grandmother falling to the floor under the Cruciatus, her screams echoing on the walls. The other Walters are silent, tears quietly leaking out of my Aunt Matilda’s eyes. At her age, my grandmother can’t take such dark magic for long. It’s too much._

_I don’t want to watch this. But I can’t move, I can’t breathe, I can’t stop watching._

_Edith Walters is the first to die. Aunt Matilda breaks her gag and screams bloody murder, managing a wandless curse at the closest death eater, who, not expecting it, falls to the floor, dark red blood seeping through his black robe, pouring out around him in a neat, circular pool. Like water does when it spills on the table, it runs and runs and runs, until there’s not enough left to push out the boundary any further._

_None of the death eaters flinch at their fallen comrade, and I feel unbearably naked not able to tune into their true emotions._

_Lucius Malfoy grabs Aunt Matilda by her hair, pulling roughly and exposing her neck, and uttering a quiet Cutting Curse, rips into her skin, blood gushing out of the open wound. Screams gurgle in her throat, a horribly agonising sound, and my grandfather baulks at the noise, his eldest daughter bleeding out on the carpet of the sitting room beside him, unable to move._

_My mother doesn’t scream. She doesn’t cry. Her eyes twitch, and she can’t look at her dying sister. The two men kneeling either side of the choking woman stare fixated on the situation they can do nothing to help with. They know they’re all going to die, and my father, Bennett Walters, just wishes for it to be quick._

_Matilda’s body stops convulsing, blood still trickling out of her wound. I notice the cut across her palm, the same as my mother’s. My heartless curiosity somehow breaks the binding on my own movement, and I crane my neck to see if I’m right in my theory._

_My grandmother’s lifeless body has the same cut, diagonally across the centre of her palm._

_Severus Snape has his eyes fixed on Margaret Walters. My mother stares unflinchingly back at him, refusing to back down to him in the face of death. She was so brave, so unyielding as she stared into the face of her killer._

_James Walters is the next to fall, his palm merely scarred across its centre – no trail of dried blood. Nor a trail of new blood – Malfoy kept it clean with a Avada Kedavra. His body slumped to the floor, his head falling close to his wife’s, eyes staring glassily at each other._

_Bennett weeps openly, the gag falling from his mouth, wracking sobs bouncing around the room. His wife, stern in the face of death, shows no emotion. She instead, cleverly twists her face up until the gag falls from her mouth. None of the death eaters deem it necessary to replace it as one of them, neither Snape nor Malfoy, cast a Cruciatus on my father._

_He falls, his body in little danger of giving out from frailty, and writhes and screams on the floor, convulsing with Aunt Matilda’s blood coating him. He’s not fallen so far as to plead, no, a Walters would never plead with a death eater, though few of them are as emotionally detached as my mother, who refuses to watch as her husband thrashes on the floor, covering himself in Matilda’s blood._

_Finally, the jeering laughter of the death eaters gives out, when my father finally falls limp, the frying of his nerves from the Cruciatus knocking him out cold. Another flash of green light, and Bennett Walters would breathe no more._

_“Are you going to kill me, Snivillus?” My mother croaked, the first sign of her fear. “Why don’t I expose you instead? That would be great, in front of all your little friends too,” she threatened, and my admiration grew for my mother, as she, destined to die in this room, probably within the next few minutes, spent her final breath taunting her enemies._

_“Crucio!” Snape yelled, and my mother’s cackle bounced around the room, sounding remarkably like the one of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her body didn’t move, there was no sign the curse had worked._

_Something like confusion flashed in Snape’s eyes as his spell apparently failed. I blinked in confusion, before I spotted the distinctive shimmer of a shield in front of her. Swallowing my sordid laughs at her cleverness, I watched as Snape, and a few others sent more curses at her, none of them lethal but all designed to hurt._

_My mother’s shield failed only when Snape roared “Sectumsempra,” and wounds split across my mother’s chest. She swayed on her knees, rocking with apparent effort to remain upright, but the bloody state of her torso proved too much, and she collapsed back, shuddering and shaking at the blood loss, but no sounds of pain emerged from her throat, no crying._

_Bleeding out on the floor, and without her wand, she somehow summoned the energy to cast another spell. Stunning the whole room, a unicorn Patronus appears, and she chokes out the words “the manor”. The Patronus gallops through the wall, disappearing from sight, and the death eaters look more than slightly unsettled by the display of power of the bound, dying woman._

_“You won’t get away with this, Snivillus,” she managed between laboured breaths, and the death eaters left the room, one by one, Snape last in the room, and something like regret flashed over his features before they were schooled back into a neat mask of anger and indifference._

_I felt my own body shudder, and when I looked down, I half expected to see blood. But there was no blood, no wound, just an invisible force shaking my shoulders, desperately trying to bring me out of this dream. Dream? No, more like memory, that’s finally had all the gaps filled in._

_“MAEVE!” I heard my name shouted desperately, and I look idly towards the door, feeling the tug to exit this room, this place, and never return. A small girl crossed into my vision, shrouded in invisibility magic, kneeling in the pools of her relative’s blood, all mixing together, like a giant family cocktail, a mixture of all the Walters._

_“MAEVE!” The same voice cried again and I felt my body move for me, all the emotion releasing as I took the few steps to the door, unable to turn back, to look over my shoulder._

_The corridor stunk of death. I stunk of death. Of horror. Of despair._

_“Walters,” I felt myself whisper, the reality of the name crashing over me as I fell to the floor and screamed._

***

I feel arms around me, warmth, light, reality. Stuffing a fist in my mouth to stem the screaming I can’t seem to stop does nothing except make my knuckles bleed.

“Maeve, Maeve, you’re okay, it was a dream, you’re okay,” Draco murmurs, rocking my back and forth in his arms, and a strangled noise escapes my throat and I clock where I am.

Back in my room, in Draco’s arm, in my bed.

“It’s okay, we’re at Hogwarts, in your room, we can protect us,” he continues, and finally, I stem the screaming, strangled cries turning to sobs and I lose myself in the warmth of Draco’s arms, the comfort of his repeated words, the familiar scent of his skin, the repetitive, if fast, beating of his heart through his chest.

“Breathe with me, Maeve,” he whispers to me, and I allow myself to fall in with his exaggerated rhythm. Tears fell freely from my eyes, running all the way down my face and dripping off my chin.

I finally cleared my eyes enough to see straight; I don’t think I’ve ever seen Draco so worried.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is hoarse, scratching painfully in my throat, and I wince. Draco summons me a glass of water from my desk and gently presses the cool glass to my lips. “I don’t know what happened; usually I can block out the nightmares,” I attempt to explain as my voice comes back close to its usual tone.

He licks his lips in a nervous movement, wordlessly pulling me into his chest. “It took me ages to wake you; I was worried I wouldn’t be able to …” he trails off, and I know where that line of thinking was going. He wouldn’t have been able to do anything, and the closest teacher is Snape, which would be a recipe for disaster in nearly every sense of the word.

“Godric, what time is it?” I ask, breaking the silence as I’m finally coming to my senses. Draco shrugs, a gesture I feel, not see. When I try and summon my wand, it doesn’t come. A wave of fear freezes me, and Draco feels me tense, and summons my wand for me.

I cast the _tempus_ spell, half expecting it not to work, but it does, and it’s only four in the morning. Rubbing my eyes, I test out a few wordless spells, and they all work out fine – well enough not to arouse suspicion, anyway. Tapping into the wards takes a lot of effort, and I can feel Draco watching me in concern. Cassia’s still fast asleep in her room, apparently completely fine. That’s a relief.

Before I can do anything else, Draco plucks the wand from my grip, putting it out of my reach on the nightstand beside him.

“Maeve, do you want to talk about this?” he asks gently, and I instantly shake my head.

I don’t think I’m capable of forming the right words to explain what I saw, and even if I could, I’m not sure I want Draco to hear them. It’s one thing to hear about your father’s actions. It’s another to either be shown them in memory-form or have them described in graphic detail by a more sympathetic witness.

Draco reads my mood perfectly, so perfectly I wonder if I’m still broadcasting my emotions. I’m not, thankfully, and he suggests a bath to help calm my nerves.

Agreeing, he climbs out of bed, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders and pulling on some joggers over his boxers. Offering me a hand, I take it gingerly, and climb out of bed, legs shaking at the effort of staying upright. Shooting him an annoyed look when he makes to carry me, he backs off a little, and another wave of shitty feelings break over me.

“Look, Draco, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” I try, but he just nods, waving it off.

Completely wandless, I wait as Draco flicks on the taps, warming the water to just the right temperature. Failing to suppress a small giggle, I watch him add bubbles to the bath, the same kind I use for Cassia.

As he’s distracted with finding clean towels, I probe around my mental shields, the permanent ones, and I find them to be fully intact. Maybe it was just this memory being too much to be held back with half-hearted effort? Whatever it is, I need to fix it, and preferably before potions class. If Snape catches that I’ve got this memory floating around the front of my mind, there will be no question of what I’m hiding, nor why Cassia and I are so good with Legilimency.

That can’t happen. For Cassia’s sake.

Sinking into the warm bubbly water felt so amazing a relieved sigh escaped my lips. Draco perched on the edge of the bath beside me, and I put my hand in his.

“Thank you, Draco,” I say sincerely, and if I had any tears left in me I know I’d be crying again. “It was a-a memory, I think. Of the day at Walter Manor ... the day of the attack.”

The blond squeezes my hand, promising I don’t have to say anything more. I stop talking, sinking lower into the hot water.

“I get them too, you know,” he says out of nowhere. “It’s not something you have to apologise for. I want to help you, if there’s any way I can – isn’t that the point of a relationship?”

I smile gently at his words, unable to form my own response, and I project my gratitude on to him instead, garnering a slow chuckle. I catch the unasked question, the one he’s too nervous to ask, and issue the formal invitation I know he’s looking for.

I pull myself forwards in the tub as Draco strips off his clothes and climbs into the water behind me. Flicking bubbles at him as I lean back against his chest, his arms instinctively wrapping around me.

Trying to distract myself, I ask Draco about Quidditch, and without giving away either of our team’s tactics or manoeuvres, we debate the odds of each team winning, the strengths and weaknesses of the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff teams. Or at least, who we think will have made their team. We won’t know for sure until after the first two matches.

The subject lasts until we’re both ready to leave the bath, and Draco summons our towels the second I go to attempt it wandlessly. I’m not sure if it worked, but the towels zoom towards us.

I lean up to kiss him gently, and Draco responds slowly, careful not to ramp the intensity up. Internally, I appreciate his non-verbal acknowledgment of my limits, but I don’t think I’d ever be bold enough to admit to weakness.

Back in my room, we dress in a comfortable silence, and without my wand, I fiddle with my tie until it looks perfect, roughly scraping a brush through my hair, knots catching on seemingly every bristle.

Draco gently takes the brush from my hand, turning me around and runs the brush through my hair with much kinder strokes. Him acting so caring dissipates some of the remaining nervous energy that survived the bath, and once my hair is hanging neatly down my back, I turn around and kiss him again.

“Thank you,” I murmur into his lips, and he pulls back with a smile, magically tying his own Slytherin tie.

I sit in front of the mirror and part my hair, beginning one of the two braids. Draco watches my hands with a curiosity only a wizard could have about a Muggle process. I fasten it with a clear elastic and move onto the other, before swirling them both together in a precise bun, grabbing my wand to fix it in place, which makes Draco smirk.

“So, you do know you’re a witch,” he grins, and I shoot a mild stinging hex at him, just enough to be teasing. Offense flashes on his face as he wordlessly deflects it.

I stare at my slightly-swollen red face in the mirror, and sigh, getting to work on some cleaning charms and what is essentially the wizarding version of makeup – skin-clearing charms and face-brightening spells.

Turning to Draco, I ask, “How do I look?”

“Beautiful, as always,” he responds quickly, and I roll my eyes, letting the gratitude in my mind speak for itself. He might hate it when I say it, but Draco Malfoy can be absolutely adorable sometimes.

***

In the Great Hall for breakfast, I notice the shift from normal instantly. The magic feels off, something's wrong but I can't quite put my finger on it. Scanning the room, nothing seems visibly different, and the ceiling is enchanted as normal if a little ... uncertain. Can magic be uncertain? I'm not convinced. 

Maybe it’s just my exhaustion talking.

I sneak a glance at Snape on the High Table, but he's glowering as normal, no signs he's the one messing with it. Although, judging by the normality of everyone else's actions, I'm not sure anyone else has noticed. Saying something would only make people think I'm crazy, so I sit in my usual seat, trying my best to ignore the unsteady feeling around me.

When Harry sits in the seat opposite me, there's a pained expression on his face, and for an instant, I think he's noticed it too, the shift, and I steal another glance at Snape, who's glaring directly at me. Fuck.

Then, the feeling dissipates, and it's like nothing happened. Harry's expression relaxes, and the stability returns. Draco's looking at me strangely, and I look away, staring at my plate. Cassia lifts a piece of toast to me, and I smile, taking a slow bite.

I make sure to feed Cassia fruit and porridge and endorse the apple juice, hoping she won't be this stubborn when she comes to Hogwarts herself. Harry talks animatedly about Quidditch, engaging everyone in a five-seat radius, and I catch the momentary look he gives me - a reprieve. A chance to take the attention off me and Cassia at the table.

I don't deserve friends like Harry; he’s far too good for me. But I take his gift, so selflessly offered, and once Cassia finishes eating, we head out of the hall, her waving goodbye to the other Gryffindors. I hurry her out, Snape's stare on my back. Three hours with him this morning might actually kill me if he's plotting more tricks like the one this morning.

"Where are you going so quickly, Ellis?" Draco drawled behind me, and I ignored him, but Cassia had different ideas, stopping dead in the corridor and waiting for Draco to catch us up.

 _Come on, Cass, please, not this morning._ She shakes her head petulantly, and I let my shoulders slump, endorsing her idea of fun.

Once we're certain we're alone, Draco drops the pretense.

"You didn't eat," he states, no doubt in his tone.

"Technically-" I start, but he interrupts me quickly.

"One bite of toast, coerced by your sister, doesn't count." I can't tell if it's pureblood arrogance or just Malfoy arrogance, but either way, his superiority complex is somewhat annoying. "You need to eat, Maeve," he adds, much more gently.

I shake my head. "I'll be fine; skipping one meal is hardly detrimental to my health," I assure, and Draco slips his hand in mine, not before sending a hasty look up and down the corridor.

I try not to let it sting as we hear voices and he drops my hand - would it really be so horrific if a Slytherin and a Gryffindor were dating? In general, no, I don't think so, but Malfoy, and one of Harry's best mates? Yes, probably.

Plus, wouldn't want Draco to get disowned for dating a "muggle-born" even if it's not technically true. By his family's reckoning, I'm probably a blood traitor anyway so ...

And, I should tell Harry and Ron first. I definitely wouldn't want them to find out from gossiping third-years. That really would test our friendship in a way I really don’t want to.

Draco split off, reminding me the offer still stands from last week to skip Potions on Cassia's account, heading to the Slytherin dorms. I half can't face Snape knowing that I had to duck out of his class based on simply messing with the magic in the main hall at breakfast. But at the same time, I'm too exhausted to care what Snape actually thinks.

No, I'm definitely not skipping Potions. I've already told too many people that I'm going to be there, and none of my Gryffindor friends know I've even contemplated it; I wouldn't want to make them worry.

In my brief time before the class, I try and persuade Cassia that muggle schoolwork is a good idea and she semi-agrees to practising some times tables. Draco would think I'm mad for forcing this on her, but between my leaving Hogwarts and her joining, there are a few years where I can't get around having to send her to a muggle school.

I guess I could technically home-school her, like she’s supposedly being this year. It’s too far in the future for me to want to worry about now.

I agree to be back as soon as Potions ends, and I leave her, making sure to grab my copy of _Advanced Potion Making_ on my way out.

Hermione has saved me a desk in Potions, but Snape intervened, shaking up the seating arrangements from usual, for probably my deficit only. Divide and conquer.

I end up partnered with Terry Boot, which wasn't a bad thing, he definitely knows enough of what he's doing not to blow us both up, though Draco was sat on the row in front of me, partnered with Harry. Which is an explosive partnership at the best of times, let alone when they were all riled up to fight less than two days ago.

Draco looks exhausted – that’ll be my fault – and he doesn’t catch the mistake Harry makes when setting the flame going. I quickly prod Harry’s mind, and he adjusts the flame before Snape has a chance to pounce.

All the practical was making Skelegro, which isn't overly taxing, but in the background of my mind, I could feel the mental invasion that someone - Snape, I'm assuming - was sending me. We get halfway through the potion, and there have been no major issues, and we wait as it simmers gently on low heat.

Under the mental pressure of Snape's attack, which somehow he's been keeping up consistently throughout most of the class.

 _Don't turn around,_ I say softly into Draco's mind, and he manages to suppress any reaction. _Snape's attacking me, trying to break through my shields_. He doesn't quite control his emotions quick enough this time, though, and nearly jumps out of his seat in outrage. Harry shoots Draco a look, brushing off his strange reaction with seemingly no stimulus.

Boot begins the next stage of the potion, happy to take over this bit whilst I idly prepare the next ingredient. I firmly keep Snape out of my mind, and despite the fact that he's multitasking and isn't devoting all his power to this, I can feel the intensity. I’d love to put it down to my depleted energy stores from such a rough night, but I can’t deny that Snape is a skilled Leglilimens. His shields, though I’m sure I can get through them easily enough, are more intense than most of the rest of the castle’s.

In protest to his attack, I push back, carefully watching his face for a reaction as I retaliate and fracture some of the shields at the front of his mind. That unsettles him, and though the attack on my doesn’t stop completely, the intensity reduces and his scowl worsens.

Wonderful - now he's going to hold a grudge against me for the next two years, even more than usual. Maybe longer. Maybe towards Cassia too, if he’s still here when she attends as a student.

When the class is finally wrapping up, and everyone's bottling up their Skelegro for inspection, Snape stops, and I almost let all my guards down in relief, but with a last little bit of energy I can summon, I reinforce them.

Our potion is nearly perfect, perhaps just slightly on the darker side than it should be, but ours, unlike Ron's, didn't melt the cauldron. As much as I hate to say it, I have a decent understanding of why Snape doesn't want anyone with below 'Outstanding' OWLs taking Potions. It can be damn dangerous.

Escaping the classroom as soon as we're all dismissed, Hermione offers to take Cassia to lunch, but I decline, forcing myself to pick her up and head to the Great Hall with everyone else. Ron and Hermione are arguing (what's new?) about Potions - Hermione is defending Snape's punishment for Ron, a week's worth of detentions for the failure of the Skelegro.

Hearing someone defending Snape, after three hours of mental assaults from him, was enough to shorten my temper to within an inch of its life, and despite my attempts at rationalizing it, I know, without any doubt, that if I don't get away from this conversation, I'm going to snap.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Caity B xx


	17. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: smut :)

***  
  


 _Fancy a picnic?_ I ask Cassia, as the first thing that comes into my head. She jumps in excitement into my arms, and I slip off as we reach the Great Hall. Harry tries to mediate the explosive argument between Ron and Hermione; usually, he ignores them until they come to their own, painfully slow, resolution. I guess his naïve streak is kicking in today.

I take her to the Quidditch stands - hopefully, not somewhere anyone would look for me, which isn’t my best logic, if I’m honest - and summon Dobby, who's eager to oblige, and a mountain of foods, and a glass of apple juice, appear in front of us in less than two minutes.

Casting a warming charm, and creating a Notice-Me-Not bubble around us, I watch Cassia eating enough, making sure to eat something, and on reflection, it helped with the tiredness a lot, boosting my magical energy pretty much back to normal.

I idly undo my braids, just for something to do with my hands, ringlets of hair falling in precise curls down my back and cascading over my shoulders.

Summoning some playdough, Cassia's easily entertained making little figurines which I enchant to move about as is her will with a few simple flicks of my wand. I’m not entirely sure what spell it is, by wordlessly, I know what I want to do, and it’s apparently working. I lie back on one of the benches, staring at the October sky, and wondering how the hell I'm going to get through all my Potions lessons and extra Legilimency training that give him a legitimate excuse to attack.

Using Cassia as an excuse to skive off at least the evening Legilimency sessions flickers across my mind, but it doesn’t last long. Harry and I have got to stick together in those. Then, without sounding too horrible, we can take Snape down a few pegs and it’s a decent excuse to accidentally venture further into his mind for some sort of blackmail material.

Maybe I should have been in Slytherin.

I cringe as I hear two familiar boys take off on their brooms, the tell-tale silence of the Firebolt enforcing the fact. Hoping the charm will hold well enough proves futile and I only open my eyes when a sound penetrates it.

"Maeve?!" Ron's shout easily reached us, and Cassia pauses before looking to me. Reluctance is evident enough, especially with her in my mind, and I shake my head as she indicates we could leave.

_It's okay, Cassia, they're friends, remember?_

I take down the charms as Harry and Ron land in the stands beside me, Harry approaching me somewhat warily, and Ron hanging back entirely.

"What happened, Maevey? We turned around and you'd disappeared," Harry asks softly, and I sigh. Might as well explain at this point.

"Because of what happened last week, Snape spent all of Potions trying to get through my mental shields," I admit, and Ron swore, outraged. I glare slightly, and his eyes flick to Cassia, before apologising quietly. "Then when Hermione was defending him, I knew I was going to lose my temper," I chuckled slightly. "I know I'm better than I was in first-year, but I'm no saint."

Memories bubble up between us of the outbursts I’d had over the years – a few for hexing Draco, now I think about it. Oh, how times have changed. I landed myself in a near-record number of detentions in first year; all for the simple reason I was scared and didn’t know how else to react without giving myself away. So, I became the hot-tempered Gryffindor girl of my year.

I guess that reputation hasn’t gone too far.

"'Mione means well, but I don't understand how she's still defending Snape, even if he is a teacher," Harry said through a clenched jaw, and I nodded, refusing to let my anger ride back up. I’d just spent ages lying here trying to calm down. No point getting all riled up again.

They coax me into flying to let off some steam, and Harry summons my broom out of the Gryffindor lockers and a spare Quaffle. It's relaxing to be flying around aimlessly, throwing the ball between friends without care for evil overlords, morally-questionable professors or taboo relationships.

Even if it is annoying to have to keep flicking my hair out of my eyes.

When afternoon classes finish, Hermione joins Cassia in the stands, conjuring new toys for her to play with, and a pang of guilt hits me. She's my responsibility and here I am ignoring her and having my own fun.

It reminds me I never actually posted that letter to Mrs Weasley. Cassia’s still extraordinarily fussy with her eating habits, and I don’t know how to not make a scene with it at mealtimes. Ginny always seems to be able to help a little, and Cassia usually tries what the youngest Weasley is eating, but more often than not, she’ll only have a single bite.

Hermione’s been avoiding mealtimes again, and mentally, I’m debating whether or not to mention something to the boys, or at least to Ginny. Quidditch talk isn’t that intense at the moment, though the anticipation towards the match is growing with each passing day. With not being in the common room, or the dorms, I don’t know what else she could be eating, but I can’t help but wonder if this is the makings of what could be a serious problem.

"Maeve!" Harry yells, and when I turn, the Quaffle hits me square in the face, and I swerve with the backlash, blinking my eyes back into focus. Harry zooms over to me, and I force a smile onto my face, before easing the broom downwards, heading to the ground. My spatial awareness, since training as a Beater, has improved dramatically, but I need to actually be focussed, not lost in runaway trains of my own thought.

When I walk through the arch that leads off the pitch, I spot Draco, hovering outside by the broom shed, and his eyes meet mine, flicking to the changing rooms. Clandestine conversation it is, then.

I shout to the boys that I'm going to put the broom away, and they turn to Ron's Keeper practice, though Harry is no crack Chaser, he seems to be happy to put the hours in to help Ron in any way he can. Cassia assures me mentally that she's fine, that Hermione is enchanting paper aeroplanes for her to chase, and I set off towards Draco.

Once I'm close enough, he grabs my hand and pulls me into the Slytherin Changing Room, and I survey the room with a kind of interest. It's a lot fancier than the Gryffindor one, and it, surprisingly, doesn't smell half bad. The Gryffindor one is perpetually messy; there are always discarded uniforms and clothes in piles that the house elves have washes and returned to their places, the owners too lazy to pick them up.

Wordlessly, he pulls me into his arms, and I lean into him, feeling my body shake a little at the contact.

"Oh, Maeve," he whispers as I feel the tears start to fall. All the pent-up emotions flow out at once, and I cling to him pathetically, half-expecting him to push me away. He does nothing of the sort, and, though it takes a while, I get all of the tears out of my system. For the second time today.

Apologetically, I magic away the tear stains from my face and Draco's shirt, which makes him laugh softly, eyes filled with concern.

"It's things like this that make me wonder how I never questioned that you were muggle-born," Draco observed, and I stick my tongue out at him. "What? Potter never seems to remember he's a wizard, I mean, have you seen his hair?" Draco's animated expression forces a laugh out of me, and I kiss him gently, winding my fingers into his hair.

"As amazing as this is," Draco whispered, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes. "We still have to talk about this."

Standing on tip-toes, I graze his lips, passing to whisper in his ear: "You turning me down, Malfoy?" When I kiss him again, he's entirely forgotten his reservations and is lost in a haze of our passion.

“Tell me to stop, Draco, and I will,” I murmur, shrugging out of my robes, without breaking our lips. “Tell me you’d rather talk and I’ll leave it here.” Forcefully, I pull him closer, pressing every inch of our clothed bodies together, and he moans gently into my parted lips.

He barely notices as I work at the buttons on his shirt. _There must be a spell for this,_ I think idly as Draco and I kiss slowly, savouring each other's unique tastes. 

I feel the involuntary shudder his body gives as I run my fingertips over the exposed skin above the waistband of his school trousers, his shirt fully unbuttoned but not yet totally abandoned. As if only now his brain is catching up to him, a different emotion flickers in his conscience, but is quickly drowned by the overpowering lust.

With a teasing smirk, I pull my body away from his. The unbuttoned shirt slides off his shoulders, and he whines at the lack of contact.

“Oh, I thought you wanted to talk?” I taunt lightly, and he glares at me, though it’s not particularly impactful, with the needy desire radiating out of him.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he growls, pushing me back against the lockers in a burst of emotion I didn’t see coming, kissing me with a renewed passion. As he pins my hands above my head with his, I surrender control to him, internally smirking at the hard-on pressing into me. He sets the pace at high intensity, his tongue slipping into my mouth and the sparks start flying between us. The intimacy we’re both craving deepens; firey passion lights up his expression and his mind. 

I just about manage to consider as I tilt my neck, giving Draco the advantage he needs to leave a hickey at the base of my neck, if I’ll be able to cover it up later.

Relocking our lips in a battle for dominance, I don’t give in so readily this time, his grip on my hands slacking. Wriggling my hands free, I gently trace my fingers over the bulge in his trousers, eliciting a moan from the contact, even through the material.

Bravely going to undo his best, Draco shoots me a need look, and I vanish his trousers, passing my hand over the thin fabric of his underwear, tenting at the erection beneath.

“Oh, fuck, Maeve,” Draco moaned, and I kiss him as we turn, his back against the metal wall of lockers. I hesitate with my fingers at the waistband, searching his eyes, and he gives me a jerky nod. I pull the material away, his cock springing free, very hard and leaking precum.

With his hands wound into the curl mass of my hair, I kneel in front of him, running the pads of my fingers up and down his length, marvelling at the moan. As a secondary thought, I throw up a wandless silencing charm around us, and I look up at him, a small smirk on my lips at his impatience as his hips buck slightly towards me.

“Patience, love,” I murmur, licking precum from his head, its bitterness exploding in my mouth. I keep a steadying hand on his hips and run my tongue over the erect flesh, torturously slowly. I want to hear him ask for it, hear a Malfoy beg for it – something I’d wager is both a rare occurrence, and a hot one.

“Mae-Maeve,” Draco moaned, all the Malfoy poise and confidence disintegrating with my stuttered name. “Please, Maeve, ple-“ the word is cut off with a loud groan of pleasure as I take him by surprise, completely enveloping his cock in my mouth. I take in the pleasure that’s radiating off Draco in waves, carefully guarding my teeth against his sudden movements.

His breathing is erratic as I worked to drive him to the edge of his control, tongue swirling shapes on the sensitive skin.

“’m close,” Draco managed to say, his eyes closing, hands gripping my hair intensely as he tried to resist. Not letting that stop me, I continue moving up and down, my hands on what I can’t reach, gentle teasing motions on his balls with the lightest of teasing touches. His whole body stiffens in anticipation and I feel the warm ropes of liquid shoot into my mouth, overflow dripping messily off me.

As Draco recovers from his orgasm, I wordlessly cast cleaning charms, standing to meet him. He kisses me, his entire face more relaxed than I’ve ever seen. Eyes darting around the room, he seems to remember where we are, and I cast a wordless _tempus_ , realising it’s almost the end of dinner.

“Shit, isn’t it Slytherin Quidditch practice tonight?” I ask, leaping away from the wall, and Draco’s only confirmation is his eyes widening in fear. For a second, I just stare at him, and his completely unguarded expression, and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

Using magic to speed up the process once I’m back to focus, we redress, and I guilty conjure Draco a new pair of trousers as he looks temporarily confused at the empty floor. Shaking his head slightly, he takes him from my hand, and I check myself in the mirror, sighing as I pull at the knots. Instead of even trying, I leave it with a sigh. Mentally connecting with Cassia, I see she’s in the common room with Harry and Hermione. No sign of Ron. So they didn’t resolve their argument then.

Wonderful.

With another wave of my wand, I take down the silencing charms, and Draco looks momentarily impressed.

“I’ll see you tonight?” Draco asks, and I nod, resisting the urge to make some crude comment at his double meaning. I hurry off before that resolve breaks, leaving the Slytherin for his Quidditch practice, not before giving him a final kiss, a slight smirk creeping into my expression.

***

  
Harry and Hermione are particularly outraged at my absence, but I brushed it off, putting it down to a last-minute meeting with Kettleburn about tomorrow's class. Hermione's inner swot understands perfectly, but Harry is giving me sceptical looks.

We stay in Gryffindor Tower a little longer, chats springing up about work, complaining about professors and subjects, and Dean and I work together on Kettleburn’s latest assignment.

Magical creatures is amazing, and though lots of people consider it a total doss of a subject, I can’t lie when I say it’s one of my favourites. Maybe not to take a profession in – although the whole talking-to-magical-creatures thing is a definite advantage.

When I try and think of the professions involving magical creatures, the list is unnervingly short, but I’m sure that’s just my lack of knowledge. I make a mental note to ask Kettleburn, and maybe McGonagall too,

I thank them for looking after Cassia, and head back down to our room, knowing I owe Cassia some time just us, where I'm not more focussed on someone else. We sit for ages in front of the fire, colouring in pictures and reading enchanted books, Cassia squealing in delight as fairies come to life on the pages and mesmerising music plays along with the words.

As the evening is drawing to a close for Cassia, she presses a hand to my cheek and shows me a memory, a beautiful one of two girls of about my age whom I hardly recognise, holding hands in a meadow, one not too far from the Walters Manor. The day is bright, and when the girls turn around, I recognise my mother's deep blue eyes, the same eyes that Cassia inherited from her.

When she releases me from the memory/dream, she's fast asleep in my lap, a smile on her face. Maybe I don’t give Cassia enough credit for keeping in touch with out connection – she could clearly see something was off with me.

I feel I could fall asleep with Cassia right now, but as my ring pulses, I bring down the wards immediately, hoping to see Draco, and my stomach falls when I see Professor Snape, unreadable expression masking his features.

"Professor, to what do I owe this visit?" I ask, standing up slowly with Cassia in my arms, careful not to wake her. Transfiguring the armchair to my right into a small bed, I lay Cassia in it, muttering privacy and protective charms with a flick of my wand. If Snape was surprised at the casual display of magic, he didn't say it. Not that I expected him to. He was more likely to insult it.

"You've impressed me," he said shortly, as if the words pained him. And he’s saying this to me, a Gryffindor. Admittedly, he’s got no audience, so if I were to try and tell anyone, it’s doubtful that they’d believe me.I try and mask my expression but I'm sure the shock came over my face instantly. I offer him a seat, and he accepts, eyes glancing around the room, no doubt disapproving the Gryffindor colours. Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t comment.

"You share the same talent for Occlumency as your sister," he states, no question about it.

Seeing no way out of it, I gave a short nod. Snape hesitated, expecting me to have denied it. "Were you aware of a magical disturbance this morning in the Great Hall?" Carefully, I try and detect his motive, but there's nothing I can see without being too invasive. Death eater or no, Dumbledore, for reasons beyond me, trusts him, and I respect that.

Even if it kills me to say it. If we could trust Dumbledore enough to set up the DA in his absence, then surely, _surely_ , a wizard as powerful as him hasn’t been fooled by an “ex”-death eater.

"Yes, I was aware of it, Professor," I answer, trying not to let my impatience show. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I'm confused as to why this warrants a visit at nine o'clock in the evening," I say, injecting my tone with a healthy dose of Gryffindor politeness.

I want him out of here, I want him gone. I might be able to trust him on the grounds that Dumbledore does, but I feel the rising anxiety as my dream – no, memory – comes flooding back into my mind. It strikes me that there was probably a very good psychological reason why I was suppressing the connection between the nameless murderer and the potions professor. Me in a younger year would have snapped completely, and given myself away to possibly the whole school.

At this point, no one knows I’m a Walters, except maybe Dumbledore. I know for a fact McGonagall doesn’t.

"Are you able to read my mind, Miss Ellis?" His question has a surprising gentleness to it, that I was very much not prepared for. I shove my hands under my thighs so Snape can’t see them shaking. I can’t understand his tone, nor his motive.

"I haven't tried, Sir," and I pause, swallowing as I debate my next words. Oh, what the hell? I might as well make this worse."However, if a situation called for it, I probably would be able to, yes." His fase twists unreadably, but his emotions are visible to me – I can see exactly what’s running through his mind. Fear, vulnerability, anger. The former two feel foreign, feel wrong, and I know this is what my mother always meant by people are scared of Legilimens. Before Snape can respond, Cassia stirs restlessly, and tears streak her face in a matter of seconds.

Forgetting the presence of the professor, I pick her up and cradle her in my arms, humming softly as I try and soothe the nightmare. She cries out agitatedly, and I summon the mobile, setting it going with a stronger calming charm than usual, the music pouring into the room, masking the sound of the crackling fire.

When it's clear she's not calming as she normally does, I reach across our mental link, watching as the nightmare scene unfolds, stamping out the evil in her mind, and reminding her of the same memory she showed me earlier. Her shuddering ceases, and I daren't put her down for fear of disturbing her.

When I turn back, Snape's still seated and is staring at me, and it's with horror that I realise I'm crying. Again. Today’s been far too emotional for me to handle, and I make a silent resolution to try and never let this happen again. It feels weak, pathetic, and I hate it. I hate crying, I hate that for the first two times today, it took Draco ages to calm me down enough to offer him an explanation. It’s horrid.

Careful not to jostle Cassia, I wipe away my tears, and summon the courage to speak.

"P-Professor," I start, cursing myself for stuttering. "May I request we continue this discussion tomorrow?"

For a moment, I think he'll refuse, but he clasps his hands uncomfortably and says: "Very well." He stands and hesitates, like he has something more to say, but I don’t want to hear it, and I go back to rocking Cassia, all my attention taken up by her shaken-up form in my arms.

Snape leaves without another word.

Taking that my cue to leave, I head upstairs, freezing the wards to keep everyone out, and I fall into Cassia's bed beside her, curling my arms protectively around her and falling into a dreamless sleep.

***

I wake early to Cassia squirming in my arms to wake me, and I release my hold on her. Cassia dances around the room, making a mess as she pulls out a load of toys from different boxes and shelves, and I check in on my mental shields.

Reinforcing where necessary, I add a few extra layers protecting my emotions and locking away any nightmares that dare to pop up.

Snape crosses my mind again – damn this man for being everywhere in my life at the moment. I can’t even begin to dissect his tone from last night. I also don’t particularly care to – if Snape wants to be cryptic and borderline bipolar with his moods, then so be it. I’m not going to lose any more sleep over it.

I set about distracting myself with assignments, which is pretty easy to do, especially with Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Half-arsing those subjects is borderline impossible if you want to ever complete an essay. I’m half-way through a Runes essay when Draco’s at my door.

He stops when he catches sight of me, and I know I look like hell in yesterday’s uniform. A raised eyebrow asks a silent question.

“I’m fine; I’m sorry I didn’t wait up for you last night; Cassia had a nightmare and we both fell asleep pretty early,” I explain, intentionally missing Snape’s visit from my short reasoning.

Draco sits next to me, apparently not suspicious, and shoots me a judgemental look as he spots the incomplete essay I’m tempted to abandon. It’s utter shite, and I can’t get my brain to work any better. Noticing my frustration, he takes the quill from my hand, and sets it aside.

“Maeve, have you talked to Potter and Weasley about us?” he asks, and I shake my head.

It’s not that I’ve been directly avoiding that conversation, but I haven’t exactly been eager to have it either. I truly don’t think they are going to react well.

“Have you talked to anyone about us?”

A small nod. “Daphne. She’s more observant than any of the others, and is more understanding too. She promised not to tell anyone else until we’re ready for that,” he assures me, and then: “My Slytherin friends are unlikely to react well. With all the pureblood stuff, and you being Maeve Ellis, there’s going to be a confrontation of mammoth proportions,” warned Draco, and I shrugged.

“Harry and Ron will raise all hell, in all likeliness.” Hermione has been more chill than I ever expected, but she’s got some underlying distaste for the relationship she does her best to hide when she’s been in here and I’ve mentioned Draco. I suppose I can’t hold it against her – Draco did kind of bully her for five years.

He seems to catch what I’m thinking, but I stop him before he can jump to conclusions. “My friends will just be worried about me, but an apology wouldn’t go amiss. Not publically or anything, but if I bring them in here one evening or something, that would probably really help.”

Draco takes my hand, Malfoy pride crumbling and he kisses me gently, then nods. I’m honestly taken aback. I never thought he’d actually agree with that.

“Yes, Maeve, I’ll talk to them, but just give me a little warning beforehand?” he requests and I nod, turning unhappily back to my unfinished essay.

“Remind me again why I’m taking so many NEWTs?”

Draco’s laugh bounces off the stone walls as he reads through the start of my essay, and I pull out a fresh piece of parchment, readying to start the whole thing again.

*** 


	18. Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: fluff, mentions of homophobia, mentions of avoiding eating

***

I’m getting close to resorting to underhand tactics to get Hermione to come to meals. Her excuses are getting repetitive, and admittedly a little flimsy, to not allow herself less than an hour off for dinner.

In the past week, she’s been at five meals, all of them quite unwilling and with her head buried in a book. The first three times, I’d got to the Hall for dinner, seen a empty spot in Hermione’s usual seat and had sent Cassia to sit down whilst I marched up to Gryffindor Tower and brought her down ignoring her protests.

Even when I made her come down to dinner, she didn’t eat much, and bringing her here only made her a target for Ron’s tasteless comments, which I instantly (and mentally) shushed him for. Sometimes I wonder about these boys and how much of the world around them they actually notice.

According to Pavarti, she truly is drowning herself in her _nine_ NEWTs, but there’s no way that counts as an excuse not to show up to meals. But, other than deception, I’m running low on ideas of how to help. And in the long run, I doubt she’s going to appreciate deceit.

Maybe spending time with Draco has the Slytherin side rubbing off on me? I know Walters are known among the Purebloods for not having one house that they always get sorted into – we’re a complete mix, so much so that one of the family trees I saw had put our Hogwarts Houses on it, mostly for entertainment’s sake, and we were drawn all across the board.

Saturday night brings another DA meeting, and after a fruitless attempt to get Draco to come, maybe with some of the upper-year Slytherins, I head off with Cassia.

Having Slytherins there would help solidify the house unity we’re making so much progress with. Of course, with the upcoming Quidditch match, this might not last long, but I don’t want it to seem like it’s three against one, and Slytherin on their own.

Even if just Draco and maybe Daphne Greengrass were to show up, it could make such a difference.

The Head Boy and Girl this year are Ravenclaws: Mark Avys and Isabelle Mather. Being Ravenclaws, they’re both insanely smart, and I can see by Isabelle’s distaste for any mention of one house’s superiority, she hates the house politics as much as any sensible person.

Neither of the two regularly show up for the DA, but Mark, Isabelle and a couple of other seventh-years did tonight – I make the effort to catch Isabelle before the meeting truly starts.

“Ellis,” she greets as I approach. She knows who I am, of course she does. I follow her suit with the surnames, though I dislike the whole formality. It feels like just another divide between the houses – other than in a joke, I don’t think I’d ever call a Gryffindor by their surname. It’s weird.

“Mather, I haven’t seen you here since the start of the year,” I start conversationally, and she smiles slightly.

“I’ve been a tad busy; the professors are giving Mark and I a lot to do.” Her words are easy, but her expression is guarded, her emotions filled with suspicion. I almost don’t want to know why.

I send her a smile – as genuine as I can. “Look, Isabelle, I wanted to talk to you about something.” She doesn’t immediately walk off, so I take it as a good sign. “House rivalry is getting out of hand, surely you agree?”

A curious nod. “Well, maybe you could talk to Dumbledore about breaking up the separation of the house tables? Not forcing students, but for those who have siblings in different houses, it could be a start,” I suggest, and Isabelle eyes scan the room, not taking in any of the detail, but as she thinks over my words.

She doesn’t get time to answer before Harry calls the start of the meeting, and I move around slowly to find my sister. Shaking my head slowly as I find her playing with Luna’s wand, I pick her up and return the wand, casting my usual shield around her.

“For the fourth and fifth years, I want to work on _liberacorpus_ and _levicorpus_ ,” Harry starts. “If you’re confident, try it wordlessly, but only if you’re confident. Sixth and seventh years, we’re going to branch out to some Transfiguration practice, since we all know how McGonagall loves to critique us.” A few laughs went up in the room, and Harry gestured to the lines of pillows. “Pillows into teapots is where we’re going to start.”

The years divided, and Ginny, whilst looking miffed that she was stuck on basic spells, didn’t make any verbal complaints.

Transfiguration is difficult at the best of times; feathery teapots were a common occurrence in the first few instances where an actual teapot-shaped item was made.

Harry was practicing along with us, and a few of the seventh-year attendees happily gave pointers to their neighbours. Transfiguration has never been my best subject. I can just about get there, with far too many hours of secret practice to come close to Hermione’s level, as people seem happy to compare me to.

Cassia was off running aroud with the younger students, and Ginny was keeping an eye on her, which I hadn’t asked her to do. Her shield was still up and running effectively, just as I knew it would be.

I sigh audibly as my spell does nothing but harden the outer covering of the pillow.

“Loosen your grip on your wand.” Isabelle strode over from where her perfect teapot stood on the floor. I relax my fingers slightly, and she shakes her head. Taking my hand in hers, she adjusts my fingers in firm determination. “Ellis, I don’t believe, can’t believe, with your reputation for magic you’re actually doing it wrong,” she remarks quietly, and I freeze slightly, instinctively tightening my grip.

“What did I just say, Ellis?” she asks, shaking her head in disapproval. Forcing myself to ease my grasp, she nods to the cushion. “Say the incantation, get the correct movement, visualise the result.”

Blocking the intimidating presence of the head girl out of my mind, calm washes over me as my magic retunes with the correct hold of my wand. With a confidence called forward from deep in my mind, I swish my wand through the air, murmuring the incantation with unyielding power.

A china teapot sits in place of the cushion, and as I inspect it, I see none of the original patterns or markings from the fabric. There’s no feathers in sight, and the material appears genuine.

Turning to thank Isabelle, she’s looking at me with curious intent. That can’t be good. The Ravenclaws do like their riddles, and getting a sixth-year transfiguration perfect after one minor correction probably counts as one. I lose the words in my mouth as a flash of red travels towards us, and without a second thought I throw up a shield between us and the spell.

The room stills. Isabelle’s got a frightened look on her usually-calm face, and I gently take her hand, pushing her to sit down on one of the benches. Mark Avys approaches her and casts a dangerous look around the room. Daring someone to say something.

“Who cast that spell?” Harry asks quietly, his voice plenty loud enough in silence of the Room of Requirement. Eyeing individuals around the room, I can instantly lock onto the guilty party – the genuine guilt in their emotions cause my hesitation to name them.

“I think we’re done for tonight,” I announce, and the doors spring open, startling those closest to them. People seem to hesitate, waiting for Harry or Mark to object, but when they stay silent, students begin filing out, whispers filling the corridors of their own theories.

 _Cassia, don’t let her leave,_ I tell my sister, and Cassia obliges.

Mark stands up to argue, but I hold out a hand. Shooting him a look that says ‘trust me’, I turn to the youngest Weasley.

“If you did that to test my reflexes, I’m going to be pissed.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed at my casual tone, and scanned around the room for who was left here. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Mark, Isabelle and I. Neville, without word, had taken Cassia out of the room, and I made a mental note to thank him later. Out the corner of my eye I spotted Luna waiting in the corridor, leaning dreamily against the opposite wall. Is that what this is about?

“Maeve, this doesn’t concern you,” Ginny snapped, and I raise my eyebrows, stepping forward.

“You sent a stunner in my direction and _I_ defended against it. Yes, it concerns me,” I shot back, but the wild look in Ginny’s eyes doesn’t soften.

Throwing up wordless privacy charms around Ginny and I, keeping our conversation completely muted from the others in the room, I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

“This is about Luna, right?” She looks sharply at me, and I shrug. “I’m not blind, and you know I can’t help seeing emotions.”

Some of the anger in Ginny’s posture dissipates as she slumps her shoulders, holding her wand less tensely like she expected to need to fight her way out of the room.

“What did Mather do?”

“She doesn’t do anything; that’s the problem. Luna’s in her house for Godric’s sake, and Mather does nothing to try and stop the bullying, the stealing and hiding of her belongings, the homophobia. I didn’t realise it had got so bad, but Luna’s been sleeping in their common room because some idiots decided to vanish her bed.” Ginny’s close to tears, and I pull the girl into my arms, reinforcing the privacy spells where I can see Mark and Harry trying to break them.

“Oh, Gin,” I whisper, and the Weasley pulls away from me, embarrassed and wiping away any signs of her tears. She hates being upset more than I do, and I have a suspicion it’s a product of growing up surrounded by so many older brothers.

“Look, Mather is probably going to give you detention for that stunner, but we can find a way to help Luna, and get back at them, if that’s what you want,” I suggest, eyes twinkling with the possibilities, and my mind goes back to the Slytherin Drag Six incident.

Clearly, Ginny thinks of the same thing, and a smirk graces her lips.

When I cut down the privacy charms, no one looks impressed. Mark is livid, partially I would guess from not being able to break through the charms. Isabelle has pulled herself back together, and has a cool glint to her expression, underlining the anger in her aura.

Harry appears almost resigned to my decision not to share Ginny’s reasoning in front of everyone, but the others are eager to fight me on it.

“Look, no harm, no foul, alright?” I attempt, but Isabelle is having none of it. Apparently, she’s a little touchy about her reputation, and since a meeting’s full of DA just saw her nearly get stunned, I doubt she’s in a forgiving mood. Mark beside her looks ready to blow a gasket. It’s not a great look on him.

Ginny’s wand is back out the second Isabelle steps forward.

“Ellis, you will remember who you are talking to,” she hisses, and I, reluctantly, step aside, ready to jump back in if a duel threatens to break out. Which, with Ginny’s temper involved, seems like a probable outcome.

“A Head Girl who does nothing to protect her students against bullying and homophobia is no Head Girl at all,” says Ginny lowly, wand twitching in her grip. Isabelle falters slightly, and in that moment, all I can see is guilt.

When Isabelle speaks again, it’s much more gentle. “I can’t change the opinions of the world, Weasley. Don’t you think I would if I could? Wizards get stuck in their ways and vehemently refuse change – I would not hesitate if I knew there would be an end to all the hate.” 

Ginny cocks her head slightly as she takes in the Ravenclaw’s words. She nods shortly; that’s as much of an apology as Isabelle is going to get. The Ravenclaw dismisses her, and Ginny stalks out the room without so much as a detention or lost points.

***

I’m blindly groping at theories to Isabelle’s change of opinion later that evening after I returned with Cassia to my quarters. Ginny had dissappeared entirely – talking with Luna somewhere private, I suspected – and Ron was quick to speculate on his little sister’s words. It’s shut down by almost everyone in the vicinity and Ron concedes, huffily turning to his Quidditch book.

The boy can’t read a schoolbook to save his life, and yet I reckon he’s taken every Quidditch book out of the library at least twice over the last five years. Maybe some more than that.

Draco appears once the bell for curfew has finished its final chime and he waits patiently in my room whilst I settle Cassia in bed. Cassia insists on stories, lots of them, and I indulge all of her requests, brewing plot after plot in my mind as we share the stories together, adjusting each character or event to suit Cassia’s preference.

Sometimes I wonder how Muggles cope with the same old stories again and again. I mean, isn’t everyone bored of that cinder girl already?

Her magical mobile is also a blessing and is effective at sending her right off to sleep. The music is low, soft, but the magic it spreads is irresistable, and gently rocks her into a sleep, for almost the whole night. At least, most of the time it does.

When I’m back in my room, I close the door, leaning heavily back against it in exhaustion. Unsure where this sudden wave appeared from, I start pulling pins from my hair, ignoring Draco’s soft laughter at my “muggle” way of tying my hair.

With a silent wave of my wand, I turn his hair blue. Turning to lean against the dresser, I make an approving sound.

“Blue suits you,” I smirk, and he shoots an _are-you-serious_ look at me, twisting to check in the mirror. He waves his wand again and changes it back, ditching his tie at the same time.

“How was your DA meeting?” he asks, and I tilt my head at him. I can’t tell if he’s trying to mock me or not, but his interest seems fairly genuine.

“Ginny tried to stun the Head Girl, that was interesting,” I say nonchalantly as I unlace my shoes and kick them off. They magically clatter over to their correct place by my chest of drawers, and I collapse on to my bed.

“Mather always gets on my nerves; she probably deserved it. I didn’t expect it from the Weaslette though.” I sigh in tired reproach, and Draco makes the effort to correct himself, if a little reluctantly.

“No one actually got stunned so Ginny was let off,” I add, and Draco makes little effort to hide his disappointment.

“Thought Mather was crap at her reflexes,” remarked Draco, and I nod. His eyebrows crinkle in confusion, and I laugh.

“It was my shield; Isabelle was helping me with transfiguration, and, oh, I don’t know, I’m good with shields?” I end on a question, and Draco looks intrigued.

 _Want to show me?_ He asks mentally, and I grin. I leave our connection open, but not invasively so, just so that Draco can be the one to open up a conversation. Of course, I could block it quite easily if I wanted, but I don’t wish to cut him out.

At the sound of the challenge in his mind, an excitement overpowers my exhaustion, and I summon my wand from the dresser, playfully sticking my tongue out at him.

As we head downstairs, I pick his brains slightly on where he thinks his talents lie, and after the predictable cocky answer of _everywhere_ , he mentions being good at wordless magic.

“Well, I promise not to listen into what you say mentally then,” I smirk, and Draco glares at me until I put a temporary stopper on the link. It’ll make it more fun if it’s a surprise what he’s throwing at me.

He shifts furniture out the way and I reinforce the wards to absorb spells and add an extra layer of silencing. Adjusting the room to turn the lights pink if Cassia needs me, or emerges from her room and potentially into the line of fire, Draco’s made enough space have a comfortable duel.

“When do we stop?” he asks, brandishing his wand with a flourish.

“When I knock you on your arse?” I quip, and he rolls his eyes. “Okay fine – when one of us is disarmed?” He nods in agreement, a brief hesitation flickering in him before he bows, formally starting the duel. I return the gesture, and I’m barely upright when I have to throw up a shield to avoid Draco’s instant jinx.

Oh, so that’s how this is, then?

I send a wordless stunner at him, veering slightly to his left, and as I predicted, he turned towards the side he was defending, and I fired another wordless jinx, Jelly-Legs, which bounced off the shield encircling his body. I nod, slightly impressed – most people don’t bend their shields.

He catches my surprise and uses it to his advantage, and my shield absorbs the _expelliarmus_ without trouble.

Spells begin flying faster, fast enough that I can’t keep up with identifying the exact spells he’s sending at me. I guess it’s not wholly important, but I like to know what my opponent is using, or likes to use.

He lands a _rictumsempra_ , and I’m slow, far too slow, to manage to utter the counter-jinx to it. The angry burst of magic when I do comes in the form of a _tarrantallegra_ , and Draco’s face is highly unamused as the spell slips past his shield and hits him with full force. He’s quick enough to stop it, though I’ve now got a decent memory if I ever want a Pensieve of Draco dancing like a madman.

Taking the shield up and down gets a little tedious after a while, and I make use of my mirroring tactic, the spell to the ceiling looking like nothing more than an accidentally misfire. Draco takes the move as if he’s just gained the upper hand, and physically steps forward, continuing the barrage of spells on my shield, which is as strong as ever. Just to further tip him over the edge of over-confidence, I give him the illusion the shield is weakening, whilst I keep it at its full power.

The duel ends in an interesting turn of events, and Draco’s downfall is his own _expelliarmus_ , bouncing off my shield as intended, hitting the mirroring charm on the ceiling. With the sheer volume of spells flying around the room, one coming at him from above – where his own shield doesn’t cover – goes unnoticed until his wand is flung out of his hand.

“How?” he demands instantly, and I point up. Scowling deeply at the mirror charm still on the ceiling, he regards me with distant pride.

“You’re good,” I compliment as we collapse onto the sofa at the edge of the room. “Probably one of the best wordless spell-casters in the year,” I add, considering the competition. “The DA haven’t been doing wordless magic for long, and not many of them are consistent.”

“And who’s teaching them, Saint Potter?” Draco’s smile has a cruel edge, and I dig an elbow into his side. I doubt Draco and Harry are ever truly going to get along, but I’m trying to make cordiality a possibility. It’s probably that I’m fighting a losing battle.

“I am, you dick,” I reply, and Draco grins.

“Only teasing, Maevey.”

“Right,” I mutter sarcastically, and the Slytherin guides my chin gently so our eyes meet.

“I don’t for one second doubt that you’re good enough to teach them,” he assures me, and I twitch my lips into a smile. “In fact, since you keep showing such casual displays of powerful magic, I’m sure you’re more skilled than you’re letting on,” he adds, and I freeze up a little.

Forcing my body to relax quickly, I ask, “What, those wards putting you in drag weren’t powerful enough for you? Damn, I should’ve made it permanent.”

He collapses dramatically back into the cushions, holding his wand over his heart as if I just cursed him, moaning of a broken heart. I clamber over to him, straddling his legs and kiss the tip of his nose playfully.

He says nothing as I unbutton his shirt, just far enough to reveal his chest. I seal his lips in a kiss, peppering kisses all the way down the exposed skin and hovering my lips over his heart, feeling its reassuringly steady beat.

“Look at us, a Malfoy and a Walters getting together at last,” he grins, and I eye him suspiciously. I sit back on his legs, silently willing him to explain.

“I don’t know how many generations back it was, maybe three or four, a Malfoy proposed to a Walter, and was thoroughly rejected, in front of a whole crowd.”

I laugh, looking into Draco’s eyes. “How did your Malfoy pride ever survive?” I joke, and he shrugs, a smile twinkling in his eye.

He leans up to kiss me, and I melt into the embrace, brain power dissolving at Draco’s intoxicating lips. Describing what flies between us at the physical connection is hopelessly sappy, but the world around me backs away and it’s just us, just our connection, filling my mind, my entire being.

There’s little question I’m addicted to us; I just hope he feels the same.

Pulling back suddenly, my eye twitches warily. Guilt and confusion seep out of Draco’s unguarded mind, and I say: “That wasn’t a highly-veiled proposal, was it?”

He throws his head back in laughter, and shakes his head. I’m not quite sure how I came to that conclusion, but I needed to ask, just to ensure I wasn’t going completely mental.

“It’s not, I promise. But theoretically, if it was, what’s your opinion, on marriage in general, I mean?” he clarified at the mock-horror in my face, and I giggle slightly as he blushes.

“Purebloods marry for convenience, to protect the bloodline, et cetera, and I know my parents were married because it was mutually beneficial to the family, but I’d like to think they fell in love over time.” Maybe I’m just cynical about the Sacred twenty-eight bollocks, but preserving the purebloods doesn’t seem like the most important factor. “I mean, I understand the need to protect magical blood, but half-bloods, muggle-borns, must have magical blood from somewhere, and surely that’s preserving it too?”

Draco’s gone very still at how political my answer is, and I screw up my face in regret. I forget how much the pureblood stuff was, and still is, drilled into all the pureblood kids. There’s no escaping the prejudices and influences when you’re a kid, but now, now that we’re old enough to make our own, more informed, choices, I’m still not really sure what Draco’s opinion will be.

“Sorry, love, I didn’t mean to …” I trail off. Didn’t mean to what? Give my opinion? That’s not something I’m willing to apologise for.

Draco shakes off my apology. “Growing up a Malfoy, everything was about being a pureblood, and the expectations of growing into the world and upholding everything my family values. And it’s difficult to stop that, you know?” He glances my way, and I nod.

I had a pureblood education on the families and family trees as a kid – most of it, I unlearned when I was in Ministry protection, learning how to act like a Muggleborn kid. I have a niggling doubt that anything I learnt was as intense as Draco’s pre-Hogwarts education.

Draco’s waiting patiently, as if he’s waiting for my next comment on the subject, but I can’t form the right words. So, instead, I divert the conversation.

“What was it like growing up in Malfoy Manor?”

He considers slowly, leaning back against the sofa and I find myself watching, unobtrusively from the outside, as he sifts through years of memories.

“Intense?” he questions, and I bite my lip.

“I was asking you, silly.” Giving him a softened, yet pointed look. “Intense how?”

He sighs. “Every day was classes – Father brought in tutors from Salazar only knows where – and the Manor was busy, all the time. Business guests or family and friends, it was rare it was just me, Mother and Father at home.”

Taking his hand in mine, I squeeze it gently. I remember a similar hectic schedule of guests at Walter Manor, but then again, it wasn’t just my immediate family who lived there – the Manor’s big enough for all of us to live comfortable with our own space.

“And was Young Draco the same picture of arrogance he was in first year?” I tease, and Draco’s eyes widen, eyebrows raised, head tilting in silent acquiesce. I can’t say it surprises me, per se.

“I’ve been to the Manor once,” I say thoughtfully after a pause, and Draco’s expression creases. “Christmas party if I remember correctly – I must have only been three,” I explain, and he shakes his head slowly at me.

With a smirk, I add, “Legilimens, remember? My mother must have shown me that memory countless times when I was growing up, as practice.”

Mother used to tweak details of memories, training me to distinguish what was real, and what was added in later, or changed completely as a diversion. People can evade skilled Legilimens with conjured memories with relative ease, unless those Legilimens have practice in detecting lies. The Malfoy Christmas Party was particularly horrible to spot tweaks in, since it was so hectic, and the sheer volume of details in the memory were difficult to remember or organise through to find the lies. Mother prided herself with her ability to spot a lying memory from a mile off, and she always wanted to pass down that talent to me.

To a certain extent she did, but after the events with Sirius last year, and the fake vision fed to Harry, I’ve lost all confidence in that skill. Harry clams up at any mention of the Ministry attack, unsurprisingly, and I’ve never taken the chance of upsetting him to apologise for not seeing it.

Fingers snap in front of my face, and I jolt slightly, thrust back into my body and out of the pits of my mind.

“You know, you screamed the house down at that Christmas party,” I tease, and Draco rolls his eyes, making a pitiful attempt to hide his blush.

“This is hardly fair – I must have been two or three at the time,” he protests, and I shut him up with a kiss.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone leaving kudos so far :)
> 
> \- Caity B xx


	19. Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language

***

Finally falling into a routine I felt I could keep up with was mildly unsettling. Never, in all my years of Hogwarts so far, had anything been so … predictable. Every year, something went wrong and, though it was still early in the year, and there had already been a couple of curveballs, there was a discomfort nestling in me that something worse would happen soon.

Perhaps it was my paranoia of having read parts of Snape’s mind coming to play.

November dawned, the first Quidditch match of the season taken hold of the excitement of the whole school. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, the first two teams to play, were especially excitable.

For all our practices, the team was tense and nervous as we changed into our scarlet robes. I had thrown up silencing charms around the room, protecting us from the outside noise, and pressure, of the expectations of our team. Not only was _the Harry Potter_ our captain, and our seeker, but everyone was eager to see Seamus and I in action. With hindsight, maybe our loud-mouthed showing off and intense secrecy of our skills was a terrible idea.

Ginny, last year, had made a formidable seeker too, and her back as a chaser turned heads from the Ravenclaws. Katie, in her fifth and final year of playing for the house team, was calm and collected externally – a side effect of having Oliver Wood as a captain for so many years perhaps? Ron leant against the lockers, like he severely regretted breakfast. Dean, in the same boat of nerves as Ron, Seamus and I for having never played a match in front of the school, obsessively checks over his clothes and relaces his boots a total of six times.

I made sure to check all the straps of the leathery protections the Beaters wore, and I flexed my fingers, making sure the material was pliable enough not to inhibit my movements. We had practiced with our full robes and gear on, but it did not feel like nearly enough. My hair, as usual for Quidditch, was plaited, and coiled into a tight bun, strong magic keeping it in place rather than my usual hairpins.

Hermione and Neville had kept Cassia close after breakfast, and I was glad for it, for her not to see all my nerves at my first proper match. Ironically enough, it had been Hermione persuading us all to eat something, and we struck a deal that if we did, she would also.

It was not _that_ underhand.

Harry clears his throat, slightly nervously, but quickly covers it up. “Okay, so, first match of the season. We have been over our tactics relentlessly – we know them inside and out. Cho Chang is Ravenclaw’s captain this year, and their seeker, and she is good at what she does. But we are better, and we can go out there and win this first match!”

Seamus whistles sharply as the rest of us cheer.

“We want to give ourselves as many points as we can, but I’m not going to deliberately ignore the snitch for too long, so we need some early goals, spectacular saves and to knock their team off-guard.” Harry pauses, eyeing Seamus, and me. “I sense you two have got a couple more tricks up your sleeves, but Maeve, please, don’t give any of us a heart attack.”

Laughter rises us as I blush, winking at Harry as if to say _no promises._ It is too much fun to terrify them all and leave them a little unknowing. Of course, I cannot leave Seamus in the dark – we had already spoken yesterday about what tricks to throw in if the opportunity arose.

No harm in planning ahead.

I cast tempus, and we all got ready to depart. I stuffed my wand into a holster in my boot, the reassuring presence of it helping to calm some of my nerves. The silencing charms fall at my will, and deafening excitement fills the changing room. We all plummet into silence ourselves, falling into our formation as we exit the red-and-gold-clad room. Ron and Harry walk out first, side by side and brooms shouldered, Seamus and I follow behind, brooms on one shoulder, bats resting on the other, careful to keep our paces even. The three chasers drop into an easy rhythm behind us.

The roar emanating from the pitch grows and grows as we approach, and I catch sight of the Ravenclaw team on our left. They walk in a slightly stuttered unison, blue robes flapping in the November breeze. Driving my attention to the beaters, I survey the two seventh-years, one of them to my dismay being Head Boy Mark Avys. I am sure he is still annoyed at me that Ginny was let off the hook, but as Head Boy, he cannot go after me directly.

Attacking me via bludger during a match apparently the next best thing, as when he caught my eye, and concerning glint emerged.

Fuck.

We wait in the Gryffindor tunnel, the voice of Lee Jordan floating around the pitch. A temporary confusion hit me, but I ignored it as best I could. Lee was in the twins’ year – so he left the school last year. Right. I could see Harry’s confusion at his change in posture, and I nudged him mentally, reminding him not to stress.

The Ravenclaw team are announced first – I do not recognise many of the names given, and I conclude it must be a mostly new team. Like ours. Chang and Avys are the only two I know from Quidditch reputations, and I will admit, it was a smart move on their part to keep the team to quiet.

I am not exactly sure why I am surprised.

Cheers for the Ravenclaw team are loud, but when Lee calls out Harry Potter as captain, his next words are completely drowned out. Flying out is one of the most powerful feelings, and the Gryffindor banners catch my attention, flapping and glittering proudly in the wind.

I do not let myself look too long at the crowd; a single sweep around seemed to tell me that the whole school was in attendance. Including what looked like all the professors. Casting them out of my mind (easier said than done with the ongoing noise), I instead took the opportunity, whilst the captains shook hands, to size up their team against ours.

The second Beater was massively built, but had an aura about him of extreme intellect, and, most importantly for the Beater, a plan. It is all well and good to whack the bludgers out of your own team’s way, but it is another level to be able to direct them to the disadvantage of the opposition.

Seamus and I shared a knowing grin as Madam Hooch’s whistle sounded.

The Chasers dived in pursuit of the Quaffle as soon as it left Hooch’s hand, and I circled upwards, sending the first bludger to disperse the Ravenclaw team. Harry hovered at a vantage point, scanning the pitch for both the snitch, and surveying his team as Ginny passed the Quaffle to Dean.

I zoomed off, in chase of the bludger heading for Ron by Avys’ hand, and though Ron dodges it, I round on it, a yell tearing out at Ron to duck as I hit it with a _thwack_ and the bludger knocks the approaching Ravenclaw chasers out of formation and off their course.

Ron’s back to focus, and I dive to avoid interfering with the Gryffindor Chasers, zigzagging low around the posts, and watching carefully where the second Ravenclaw beater was aiming to strike a bludger in Harry’s direction. The seeker was oblivious and Seamus, barrelling in from the side, smashed the bludger away, knocking it through one of the viewer tower’s structure; sounds of smashing wood could barely be heard over the roar of the crowd at Seamus’ clever move.

Avys was on warpath, and I dodged the first bludger he sent in my direction, looping back to it in a circular motion and sending the ball rushing towards the Ravenclaw Keeper. My Nimbus was faster than his Cleansweep, and I urged it forward, determined to keep in front of him, and from defending his keeper. My chasers manage to evade Avys’ attention and if I can just get this to work-

“WEALSEY SCORES THE FIRST GOAL OF THE SEASON! TEN POINTS TO GRYFFINDOR!” Lee Jordan’s voice can be heard over the Gryffindor’s cheers, and Ginny lets out a short whoop, and in her excitement manages a near-impossible intercept between the Ravenclaw Keeper and one of the Chasers.

I do not have the luxury of waiting to watch what happens next, and I chase after the bludger circling the pitch dangerously and send it directly at Chang as she dived for something, whether the snitch or a feint.

The crowd drew breath in unison, silencing enough for me to hear Seamus’ two-toned whistle, and I sped off, face twitching slightly as an uproar of cheering erupted from beneath the enchanted Ravenclaw banners.

As the bludger headed for Chang recovered its course, it, and its pair, created a V-shape as they flew dangerously towards the pack of Gryffindor chasers, and simultaneously, as Seamus and I caught up, we sent the bludgers spiralling down to ward off the Ravenclaw chasers flying low, beneath our own chasers. They scattered, the only girl narrowly avoiding the ground as she jerked suddenly out of its path.

“BELL SCORES! GRYFFINDOR ARE IN THE LEAD TWENTY TO ZERO!”

Cheering crowds spurred my energy on, adrenaline pumping through every fibre of me. Harry dived, near the other end of the pitch, and Chang, who had been hovering somewhere in the mid-pitch, dived after him.

Had he seen the snitch? Or was this his first feint of the match? I seem to remember he is particularly partial to using his Firebolt’s agility and speed to his advantage.

“Maeve! Keeper!” Seamus hissed loudly at me, and I swiftly surveyed the pitch for the bludgers, seeing Avys sneaking up on Ron as the bludger approached the Keeper.

I swore loudly, though it was not heard by anyone other than Seamus, and urged my broom faster, faster, compelling my brain to come up with something to throw Avys off-guard. When the second bludger flew my way, I smirked to myself, grim determination gripping my features less than a second later as I faked spinning out of control into Avys’ path when I hit the second bludger, guiding my momentum around in controlled, consecutive loops.

Avys swore wildly at me, anger pushing into his aura, and I feigned my innocence at a little loss of control, before bringing my spinning to a controlled halt.

“Clever bit of flying from Ellis, the first ever female beater on the house teams! Look out boys, here come the women!”

My heart soared at Lee’s words, and I gave a dramatic bow as I rounded on the bludger that Avys was originally going for, knocking it in Chang’s direction. Apparently, Harry’s earlier dive was indeed a feint, and it had left Chang a little shaky. She must have had a close call with the ground to look that bad.

Chang missed the bludger coming at her entirely, and at the scream of one of her Chasers she managed to send her broom plummeting wildly out the way, truly spinning out of control. It was so unlike my previous manoeuvre, and yet looked almost identical. The principle difference was Chang’s terrified expression, and when the momentum of her broom finally slowed her turning, she nearly slipped from her broom at the sheer dizziness. The chaser who had screamed flew to the seeker in an admirable display of care for her teammate and captain, but it left the Ravenclaw chasers without their usual formations, and Dean made an intercept.

At the same time, Harry had dived for the snitch, and I caught the flash of gold with my own eyes as I deflected a bludger from its course towards Dean and Katie with the Quaffle.

I grinned as I saw Harry dragging out the chase, hoping for the chasers to make another score. At the cheer rising up from the Gryffindor fans in relief at the score – definitely assisted by Seamus, who cleverly used the bludger to move the Ravenclaw keeper from his position of defence – Harry leaned out for the snitch, capturing the golden ball in his fist and holding it up for the crowd to see.

“POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH AS THOMAS SCORES ANOTHER GOAL FOR GRYFFINDOR! GRYFFINDOR WINS THE FIRST MATCH OF THE SEASON, ONE HUNDRED AND EIGTHY TO ZERO!”

If I thought the crowd was loud before, I was completely unprepared for the racket approaching from the Gryffindor stands.

This time, I really allowed myself to search the crowds and take it all in – and with a start, I see two redheads clumped together with Hermione, Cassia and Neville. Shaking my head slightly, I turn back to my team, who are all landing gracefully by Harry, who has still got the snitch clutched in his hand.

As I cruise towards the team, I catch sight of Chang, who, now she is grounded, looks as if she might collapse. How close has she come to the ground? Surely that would not make you look like _that_.

Gryffindors are spilling out onto the pitch, and I land neatly at Seamus’ side. He slaps my back in congratulations, and I return the gesture.

Ron’s looking rather pleased with himself that no Ravenclaw goals were scored, and all the chasers scored one each, which puts everyone on a level playing field. There are shouts of celebration going up on all sides, and someone, probably Seamus, loudly announces a party in the common room tonight after dinner. That earns a few extra cheers.

Finally, McGonagall insists on the team showering, and, as if students have only just noticed, they part like the red sea, and we walk victoriously away.

Stashing my broom, leathers, and bat in my locker, I spell it locked, briefly adding a couple of extra protections too. I am taking no chances of a hexed broom next practice.

Before I can get in the showers, the door swings open and Cassia, Fred and George enter, victorious grins on the latter two.

“Maeve Ellis! I can’t believe you kept that skill a secret!” Fred burst out instantly, and my muscles groaned in protest as Cassia jumped into my arms.

“If I’d known you were following in our footsteps, we’d have included you on so many plans earlier on,” George added, and I shook my head slowly.

I am not even sure I want to know what plans they are on about. Admittedly, it would have been fun, and hazarding a guess, I would say they heard about the prank on the Slytherins.

“Whatever you’re plotting, please stop,” I say, face contorting in discomfort as Cassia shifts in my arms. Fred easily takes Cassia from me, and surprisingly, she does not object. I guess they have had a whole Quidditch match to be introduced.

Seamus and Dean emerge from the showers, and I make a move to go, but George grabs my arm. There is a fraction of worry written in his eyes, and force myself to smile at him.

“Can we talk in a little bit?” I ask, and with my promise that I am not going to avoid the conversation later, they leave me in peace to shower.

***

Ginny approached me at the party that evening; Cassia was sleeping in Hermione’s bed and she had insisted I spend some time celebrating my first win on the team. I was not going to argue with Hermione, especially since she had been true to her word, and eaten (if not in vast quantities) at mealtimes today.

“So, Maeve,” Ginny started, handing me a butterbeer. I nod appreciatively. “What can we do for our lovely Head Girl?”

Last week’s incident had left Ginny hungry for some sort of prank or revenge, and we had been plotting as we searched the grounds for Luna’s “missing” belongings.

I had also been into the Ravenclaw common room with Luna herself, and restored her vanished bed, and added some protections, much to the outrage of some of the Ravenclaws at my presence. The Ravenclaw common room is much alike the Gryffindor one in layout since they took the other tower, but all the empty space along the walls of both the common room, and Luna’s dorm, is filled with desks and chairs, all of them claimed by hundreds of textbooks.

Luna, in her usual manner, asked questions about Nargles, asking if they could get through the spells, and I assured her they could not, and that she was going to stop losing things soon.

“It’s difficult to know what we should do with Mather, because at the end of the day, it’s not her fault that everyone else is an arsehole,” I start, drinking from the cool butterbeer. “But, trying to get everyone who insults Luna could prove too challenging.”

As we are standing here talking, the twins, who insisted on staying for the party, amble over, mischievous grins on their faces.

“My ears are burning,” George says nonchalantly, and I roll my eyes at their subtly, or lack thereof.

“Do we hear someone plotting?” Fred asked innocently, and Ginny reaches out to slap her brothers. They recoil away from us, but I quickly fill them in on our thoughts.

George leans back against the wall, face pensive, as the chaos of the party rages around us. Fred wears an easy smile as he thinks, and Ginny is pulled away by one of her year-mates before long back to the centre of attention.

They both round on me once Ginny is out of earshot. I let them frogmarch me upstairs, all the way to the top landing of the tower, and uncharacteristically stern expressions cross their faces.

“You have got some explaining to do,” they say simultaneously, their emotions overwhelming me. I know they are not just talking about pranking or being a Beater.

Leaning back against the wall, I run a hand through the curling mass of my hair.

“You met Cassia – isn’t she explanation enough?” When their faces do not waver, I sigh. Apparently not. “Cassia’s like me with the Legilimency; if it’s not taught and controlled, I dread to think the outcome. She’d come to Hogwarts with no regard for her skill and it could be devastating.”

“You could have told us that, rather than leave us worrying over the summer, and then leaving us to find out from Ron what was going on!” George seethed, and I swallowed nervously. I had never seen him this angry about something; the twins were always easy-going. Always.

Fred put a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder, and anger drained out of George’s aura. “Maeve, we were worried. You can’t just disappear for weeks at a time like that,” Fred reprimanded, and I nodded.

It was a mistake, and honestly, yes, I probably could have gone to Grimmauld Place and stayed there if I had not been able to return to Hogwarts. But in complete truth, I was not prepared to accept it, nor did I want everyone’s sympathy. Besides, just showing up at Grimmauld Place unannounced with a six-year-old would have been a questionable move, even by my usual standards.

Fred and George are like my big brothers and letting them down kills me. But, without the aid of a Time-Turner, I cannot change what I did.

“I should have written to you, I’m sorry,” I say in a quiet voice, stamping down on the tears threatening to spill. “I was just worried about Cassia; she’s only little and is easily overwhelmed sometimes.” All true, but not the only reason I cut everyone out.

George pulls me into his arms, apologising for his anger quietly into my hair.

“You promise you won’t cut out on us again, Maevey?” he asks as he releases me, and I bite my lip, nodding.

I am hoping I will never have the situation again where I need to duck out on everyone, but I cannot see the future. I am not making a wizarding vow, but I intend to keep this promise if circumstance permits it. If something dramatic happens, and I must, I will end up breaking it.

For example, if Voldemort figures out the Walters are not all dead. Then, I have got to leave sharpish.

The twins seem happy with my promise, and as we head back down, I pop into the sixth-year dorm, the twins waiting outside – no boys aloud in the girls’ dorm. Though technically, they are not students anymore. I wonder briefly if that makes a difference.

Cassia’s sleeping quite peacefully curled up in Hermione’s sheets, and I survey the room with a pang of nostalgia. Casting _tempus_ wandlessly, I scoop my sister into my arms, trying my best not to wake her, though it is a fruitless game as we have got to walk through the busy (and loud) common room.

Brushing blonde strands out of her face, my arms protest at the movements. There must be a spell, or a potion, to relieve sore muscles; I add it to my mental to-do list to find it and learn or brew it as soon as possible.

We pass Hermione on the way down, and she looks exhausted. Arms laden with books, her steps are slow and a little shaky. George steadies her with a strong hand and takes the books from her arms as she protests. The twins split up, George with Hermione and Fred with me, and I cast silencing charms around Cassia so hopefully she does not get too violently woken up by the noise of the ongoing celebrations.

I am waylaid four times as I make my way through the common room – first Harry, then a drunk Ron, and Ginny, who is eager to make plans to figure out a prank as soon as possible.

The final one is the second year who tried out for Beater, his name being Daniel Roth. He nervously congratulates me on my performance during the match, and then promptly disappears into the crowd.

Fred makes a crack at Daniel for having a crush, and I swat his arm. All the way down to the dungeons, I ask questions about the joke shop and Fred’s happy to explain many of its most successful products. He floats the idea of opening another store in Hogsmede, but it lacks feeling and conviction behind it.

When we reach the corridor with my quarters, Professor Snape rounds the corner, presumably heading back from his first set of rounds.

“Severus,” Fred greets, a winning smirk on his face as Snape merely glares in response. The Potions Master dislikes the twins deeply, and now they are a part of the Order, they are technically on the same level of trust.

“Weasley, Ellis. It’s a little late for an evening … meeting,” Snape fumbles for the word, and a smile graces my lips. I merely raise an eyebrow in question of his motive, and Fred steps in. I mean, Snape cannot give him detention – he can for me.

“Severus, I don’t think that’s entirely appropriate in present company.”

Snape glares furiously at me. He has not spoken to me alone for a while, which I am glad for, though I have thwarted any attempts at revenge that have been thrown at me. I cannot be sure how many were Snape, and how many were the Slytherin students. Either way, I have not asked Draco – none of the attacks have been successful, and it is fun to see them all fail.

Cassia’s feeling heavier than ever in my arms as Snape sweeps away, not deigning to give us a response.

 _Everything alright, Maevey?_ Draco’s presence enters my head, and I shift Cassia to my other hip as I mentally nod at him. I do not trust my voice to not break in my tiredness, and since Fred is still here, Draco does not need to worry when he cannot come and see me himself.

Fred is visibly impressed as we go through my wards, and he follows me upstairs to Cassia’s room, walking slowly behind me, a tinge of fear in his aura. That is odd.

Cassia goes down easily – she barely woke up the whole way back, and I remove the silencing charms from around her and flick my wand at the mobile. Soft, sweet music fills the air, and I close the door quietly behind us, even more aware of Fred’s emotions in Cassia’s absence.

“Everything okay?” I press gently, and he nods, pausing mid-motion, eyeing my sceptically. “Not reading your mind, I promise,” I add, hands raised in surrender. Fred plucks my wand from between my fingers, twirling it in his as we head downstairs.

I’m surprised I gave up my wand so quickly to him, and it doesn’t occur to me until he turns around to face me that there might be a reason why he took the wand off me in the first place.

“Maeve,” he starts, and my posture sags at the regret-laden tone. “I know you aren’t officially a part of the Order, but we need you to find someone for us, using your Legilimency.”

I cock my head, squinting in confusion. “Look, we can’t find Lupin, and people are starting to get worried; if there’s anything you can do to help …” he trails off, catching my expression.

“If the Order are worried about Remus, then of course I’ll help if I can, but this is going to expose me as a Walters, and then Cassia too,” I explain my hesitation, and Fred’s face falls, the realisation dawning.

Remus Lupin means a lot to Harry, I know he does. And I cannot just stand by and let everyone worry, though I doubt Harry knows of his current AWOL status. However, Cassia must be my priority.

“I can help, but it has to be distanced from the Order, at least for now. I guess we’re lucky I had such little regard for boundaries as a third-year.” I smile, reminding myself of the memory of my accidental invasion into Lupin’s mind on the Hogwarts Express.

Fred reaches out, taking my hand in his, whispering a thank-you.

“I can search for his magical signature, but I can’t guarantee finding him if he’s overseas somewhere – the range of this stuff isn’t infinite,” I remind Fred as I sit down in an armchair, summoning my wand from out his hand.

His eyes widen as he notices my intent and shakes his head wildly.

“I didn’t mean right now!” he practically yelps, and slouch in a fit of giggles.

“Then convince Dumbledore to allow Floo communications with my room to the shop on Diagon Alley,” I reply. There is no way I am writing this down and sending it by owl-post.

Fred agrees to that, instructing me to get some sleep after my brilliant performance this morning and I begrudgingly agree. He drops a brotherly kiss on my head as he goes to leave, promising get Dumbledore to sort out the Floo situation soon.

_Remus Lupin, what the hell are you doing?_

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my lovely readers, and to everyone leaving Kudos!
> 
> \- Caity B xx


	20. Searching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language

***

Draco’s at my door early Sunday morning, and I have been up for an hour already with Cassia, who’s insisting on gymnastics practice. My kiddie gymnastics (taught to me by Aunt Matilda) can just about get me in a handstand, and cartwheels are not a huge challenge, though they are far from perfect.

I think my mother only endorsed the muggle exercise because some Legilimency practices need a healthy body to return to, or to use as a stabiliser. Quidditch and flying always did that too, but this is a little less … dangerous.

The Slytherin is mildly horrified when he enters, and I am upside-down on my hands, hair pooling on the floor in wavy auburn strands. Cassia giggles on the floor beside me.

“That is some strange magic, Maeve,” Draco remarked as he sat down, and I shook my head, kicking back down.

“No magic.” I wink at his confusion, and Cassia does a round-off, landing close to the stone wall. That is, of course, charmed to not hurt her should she collide.

 _Muggles are weird_ , Draco thought, and I suppressed a grin. He probably didn’t intend to broadcast that specific thought, and I do him the favour of pushing the mental link a little further from the front of his mind. This way he is less likely to give me all of his thoughts.

Dobby provides an early breakfast for us, recoiling slightly at the sight of Draco. The Malfoy offers an apology on behalf of his father, and the elf, at my reassuring nod, breaks his face into a grin.

Cassia eats more pancakes that I thought was possible for a six-year-old, and Draco and I chat idly about all sorts of school stuff. There are a lot of complaints between us at workload, teaching style and practical work, but I surreptitiously avoid making a single complaint about Potions or the Potions Master.

I pick Draco’s brains on muscle strain-relieving potions, and it’s much lengthier than I thought it would be, but it’s not overly complex to brew. Just time-consuming. It should be manageable enough, and useful if I can get it right.

Lupin is on my mind all morning. I can’t shake a feeling something must be really wrong if Fred is having to come to me for help. All the resources of the Order, and to an extent, the Ministry, and yet they cannot find him. Maybe the Ministry would be too conspicuous.

“Maeve, what’s wrong?” Draco inquired after a while, and glancing at my book, I had written two lines in the space of thirty minutes. Right.

“I need to find someone for a friend using Legilimency, but I’m too worried about him to start yet – my mind isn’t focussed enough,” I explain briefly. As much as I trust Draco now, I can’t go giving out Order secrets. Not where Remus’ life might be a concern.

Draco’s brow furrowed. “You can do that?”

I nod shortly, sinking into the chair, away from my books. None of it is going in anyway – there’s no point reading the same page five times over.

“If I’ve been in their mind extensively, it leaves a sort of magical signature which I can trace,” I try and describe, with little success, judging by Draco’s confusion.

“What counts as extensively?” Genuine confusion and interest mark his eyes, and I lick my lips somewhat nervously.

Draco never seemed to want to know the extent of my legilimency, and I agree with his sentiment of _ignorance is bliss,_ but I don’t want to lie to him about it. If he’s asked, then he should be prepared for an answer he doesn’t want to hear. Theoretically.

“Reading memories, permanent mental connections, putting up shields for someone else-”

“You can do that too?” Draco interrupts, and I nod. I wait before I continue, expecting some sort of outrage that I hadn’t mentioned it before, but none comes.

“It has its limits of course, geography-wise. Most people with decent skills might be able to do it across a town, or a city if they’re really good.” Draco catches what I’ve deliberately left out, and when he asks my own range, I look away.

His hand clasps mine, resting lightly on my knee.

“Maeve, I know I’ve not reacted the best with your Legilimency, but you don’t have to hide from me,” says Draco softly, and I meet his eyes with a smile.

“I can find someone if they’re in the UK,” I whisper, and his eyes widen. He lets out a sharp breath, and I continue, “That’s why they’ve asked me to find him. Because I’m the best.” There is no trace of arrogance in my words – just solid fact. Draco senses that too and squeezes my hand.

I try and turn back to my books, but I can’t focus. I need to be finding Remus, I _need_ to.

“Go sit down over there, start looking,” Draco instructs, and calls Cassia over, who obeys without question and sits on Draco’s other side. He summons her colouring things, and she, with chocolate-smudged fingers, instantly takes to losing herself in the drawing.

I kiss Draco softly, and vacate my seat, clearing a space on the floor by the fire. To locate Remus, I must both be present in my mind, drawing on where the original connection sprouted, and searching outside, scouring for his magical signature. The origin for this specific case is from my third year; the train journey to Hogwarts Lupin protected us from that dementor. It’s a little more difficult than regular Legilimency practices, and if I wasn’t a Walters, I’d be mad to even attempt to search for him at this distance.

But I am a Walters, and I did this countless times as a child.

I lose myself from the room in my mind, strengthening the memories I gleaned from Lupin, who at the time had been unaware, as there was the slightly more pressing matter of the dementor.

Dementors also draw out memories, which helps Legilimens mask what they are doing. Not that working with dementors is advisable practice. Definitely not.

When I’m confident with the stability of the memory, I anchor myself to Hogwarts – the magic here is so strong, and so poignant, that there’s no chance of my mind getting lost and unable to find its way back to my body. That is another risk of this kind of practice – returning to your own body can be a challenge if you’re out searching too long and forget where you were to begin with. And there are few methods of restoration that work without severe side effects, most of them loss of memory and some form of insanity.

Which Hogwarts as my anchor, that would not happen. Thankfully.

I conjured a map of the UK in front of me, and lying it on the floor, I briefly contemplated where to start. In the north, I decided.

Settling into myself, I rested my finger on the map and left my body.

Legilimency searching is much alike to Muggle Radar technology, only I’m attuned to a very specific signature – the one belonging to Remus Lupin. Finding werewolves is a little more complicated than regular wizards; the signature is diluted by the wolf’s presence, but it’s by no means impossible. Animagi are also more difficult to find, and when they’re in Animagus form, they’re easy to miss. I’d like to test it out someday, fully, with different Animagi, and see if there is a difference based on form, or length of time the wizard has been an Animagus. It would be interesting to know.

Remus isn’t hiding in the Scottish Highlands; I rule them all out first. The magical signature of the Kelpie in Loch Ness is strong, and I almost lose myself in it. That was the mistake I would always make as a child, and my mother took to hiding around magical creatures, or large magical signatures to throw me off my game.

Working my way south, more towns emerge and cloud the signature, particularly densely-magically-populated towns. I avoid Hogsmede entirely as I pass the Hogwarts area, and a familiar feeling of frustration is growing in me. I haven’t done this for a while, and the ache reminds me of my childhood practice, from maybe when I was about eight and this was still all new to me. My inexperience isn’t going to help Remus, and I push around that pain, trying to broaden the scope of my search.

Muggles without any magic easily fly under my radar, not confusing me at all. Witches equally don’t particularly interfere with the search – male and female magical signatures often (but not always) have different undertones to the signature, like it’s drawn by a different type of quill.

Wizards prove more of an issue, werewolves even more so, and I double back on a few signatures at least three times when confusion clouds my first impression. None of them are Remus.

Excitement pricks at me when I catch a trace of Remus, and I follow it like a sniffer dog. The trail is fading fast and a haze is setting over the forest I’m in – Thetford Forest, in Suffolk. I should have guessed really – Thetford is known for attracting magical creatures and presences. Other than the Forbidden Forest, it’s probably the densest natural magical site in the UK.

Differentiating between all the signatures is taxing, and I am hundreds of miles from my body, making it even more difficult.

 _Remus?_ I breathe out into the forest, sending a wave of my own magic, only detectable to its intended recipient. Different magic pierces my own wave in a pained burst, and panic rises in me. He’s hurt.

 _Remus, can you do that again?_ I send, following the short, sharp, energy-zapping bursts of magic until I have his exact location. A brief image of his figure hits me, and it’s enough for someone to Apparate there and help him. He’s bloody and torn up – it looks as if he missed his Wolfsbane the last full moon, and his wolf has taken revenge for being subdued for all these years.

I have the information I need to help him, and I lock my focus on my own body, the weight of the magical anchor pulling me violently across the country, and I block out the influx of information flashing past me in colourful, overwhelming bursts.

Speeding back this quickly isn’t strictly speaking a good idea, but Remus is hurt, he’s dying out there. This needs to happen quickly.

Jolting aggressively back into my body, I let out a gasp and fall to the floor from my sitting position. Draco’s at my side in an instant, and I rest my head in his lap. Being out of my body messes with my senses, and it always takes a little pain to readjust for the brutal change.

I squeeze my eyes closed, acclimatising to the sounds, the smells, the feelings of being in a human body. The fire crackles warmly by my side, autumnally scenting the room. Draco’s breathing heavily, and his comforting smell relaxes me through the process.

Cracking my eyes open only slightly, I see the roaring light emanating from the fire, golden and red flames dancing succinctly together, the mottled grey of the rising smoke dispersing into the colourless air. Draco’s black trousers obscure part of my vision, and the cool grey stone of the floor leeches the cold through my clothes.

I sit, bolt upright, remembering Remus, lying alone on the forest floor. Draco is startled, and I kiss him without a word, straightening my uniform and running from the room.

It’s not far to Professor Tonks’ quarters, and she’s the first person I think of to help Remus. She’s an Order member, Defence professor and trained Auror. That is more than enough qualifications needed to find him and help.

I knock urgently on her door, and she answers it with mild concern. It is Sunday morning, and she was possibly looking for a lie-in. I force myself to breathe and explain.

“Remus needs your help; I can tell you where he is and you can Apparate there, and get him a healer,” I blurt out, and Tonks looks worriedly up and down the corridor before pulling me into the room.

She looks like she’s about to object to my knowledge of the situation, and I shake my head, cutting her off before she’s got a chance to speak.

“Please, Tonks, Fred told me none of the Order knew where he was – I think he’s really injured.”

She swallows carefully. “W-where is he?” Her stutter doesn’t register with me immediately, and without warning, I mentally give Tonks the location in as much detail as I can manage. I don’t avoid Remus’ state, hoping that it will spur Tonks into moving quicker to get him the help he needs.

“Please go and help; I’ll explain how I know later. Don’t tell Remus it was me who found him.” Tonks nods, somewhat frantic, and she throws on an outer robe, indicating for me to leave as she herself does. I lean back against the wall, my magic a little weakened from the exertion, and watch as Tonks hurries away.

 _Maeve Walters, what the hell is going on?_ Draco’s voice enters my head, and I tell him I’m coming back to explain. Secretly, I put a filter on Draco’s and my connection, blocking out the terror in my emotions from him.

I take the walk back to my room a lot slower, figuring out what I can and can’t tell Draco. I can’t say who, or why, or what but I can explain how, to the best of my ability.

So, I guess that will have to do.

***

Draco was highly unsatisfied with my brevity, but he eventually settled down and allowed me to explain the _how_ of the search. It’s difficult to put into words – I was taught by the feel of the process. You couldn’t learn this out of a book. I know the Slytherin had previously thought himself a sort of expert in Legilimency, and Draco explains how he was taught by Bellatrix Lestrange, two summers ago.

“That’s what that damage was,” I breathed out, more to myself than to Draco as he explained her brutal methods, and he looked sharply at me. “When you came in in fifth year, there was something … almost wrong with your emotions; at the time, I didn’t care enough to ask, but that kind of forced repetitive entry to your mind had left marks.”

When he’s happy that they aren’t still visible under my assurance, since apparently his Malfoy vanity knows no bounds, I ask another question.

“How long did it take me before I came back?”

He considered for a moment, “Almost an hour, I’d reckon.” At the slightly disappointed look on my face, he laughed, “Only you, Maeve, could be upset when it’s a skill no one else in the country has the capacity for.”

Managing to turn my attention back to my homework, I slog through the Arithmancy assignment slowly, constantly turning back to my textbook for reference.

Cassia flicks her drawings in front of me and Draco every ten or so minutes, and I praise them wildly, enchanting them to move, and sticking them to any spare space on the wall I can find. She’s enamoured by her moving pictures, and I clear my throat to bring Draco back into the room.

He blushes slightly, looking down at his essay. His showing of true emotions touches me; he’s a very private, and stoic, person in general, until he’s pissed off at someone. Then all hell reigns loose.

My ring buzzes at me, and I cringe away from it as I see Harry, Ron and Hermione’s names pop up.

“So…” I start nonchalantly, and Draco’s immediately suspicious. “My friends are here, outside the portrait; are you feeling brave?”

Colour drains slightly from his face, and he doesn’t meet my eyes. Steeling his own nerves back into a typical Malfoy confidence, he nods, and I flick the wards down, allowing the Gryffindors into my common room.

Three sets of footsteps enter, and then cease in the doorway. Only Hermione continues, and takes a seat on one of the armchairs.

“What the fuck is the ferret doing here?” Ron seethes, and I turn to face the two boys.

“Language, please, Ron,” I ask, my eyes flicking to Cassia, who’s watching the situation earnestly. He doesn’t apologise, just glares directly at Draco, who’s glaring back.

“Draco and I are … together,” I say after a pause, and a quick glance in Draco’s direction. The Slytherin’s expression softens a fraction but is immediately hardened again as the shouts of protest from the Gryffindor boys.

Hermione is watching the argument unfold with distant focus, seemingly having not chosen a side.

“Malfoy’s a prat, he always has been,” Harry complains indignantly, and my face flickers between emotions as the intensity of the room increases.

“Used to be, people change, Harry,” I retort, and Ron laughs humourlessly.

“This is the same Malfoy we’re talking about, right? All he does is insult us all, thinking he’s above us.”

I knew their objections would be somewhere in this region, bringing up the past and throwing it all between us.

 _Cassia, will you please go upstairs?_ At the no-nonsense tone in my voice, she makes no arguments, scurrying off upstairs by herself.

“Can you not even try to see past that, Weasley?” Draco almost sneered, but his heart wasn’t quite in it, and the tone lacked conviction. That threw Harry slightly off his guard, and the black-haired boy looked right at me.

“How, Maeve? How did this even start?” 

“I-I don’t know.” I struggle for the right words, grappling through my memories of the term so far, wondering how this ever happened. “He apologised and promised to keep the Slytherins away from attacking Cassia. I don’t know, things just kind of happened, and we’re here.” My explanation is hardly satisfactory, and Ron finds his head in disbelief.

Ron’s always reacted harshly to anything he doesn’t agree with, but usually it takes some time for him to come around. But he always has done. Always.

“You trust him?” Ron exclaimed indignantly, and I could feel Draco’s temper rising beside me.

“ _He_ is right here,” the Slytherin snapped, and Ron barely acknowledges him other than to glare. “I know I’ve been an absolute arse since we’ve been at Hogwarts, but I think we’re old enough to put the past behind us.”

It is not exactly an apology, but I’m sensing with the tension in the room, it’s as close as we’re going to get.

“What kind of game are you playing, Maeve? Are you in his head or something?” Ron snapped at me, and his words punch a hole through my chest. He knows full well that I wouldn’t do that. He’s just angry.

It doesn’t stop me being angry.

“Why don’t I get in your head instead and change your mind?” I say lowly, tone flashing dangerously. “If that’s how low your opinion is of me, then I think you should leave.”

Ron doesn’t even hesitate as he storms from the room, tossing a vicious glare at Draco. Harry stands still, torn between following Ron out in anger, and hexing Malfoy. I don’t know which would be better at this point.

“Potter, look, can’t you see I’m trying here?” Draco asks, and Harry’s shoulders slump a little.

He runs a hand through his messy black hair. “Yeah, I can, Malfoy. That’s what’s difficult to understand. Why now, why this year is it that something has changed?”

Draco’s discomfort at this entire situation rises at Harry’s question, and I watch him curiously for his words. “I’m going to be seventeen this year, we all are. Bringing childish feuds into the adult world seemed ridiculous, considering the state of the wizarding world at present. We – you especially – have bigger things to worry about than our silly fights.”

As Draco speaks, truly honestly, for maybe one of the first times with Harry as his audience, a soft smile graces my lips, and I’m too enamoured by Draco’s tone to notice Harry pulling his wand on Draco. The Slytherin’s eyes narrow, the previous easy-going honesty ceasing as his own wand slid out of the sheath on his arm.

“Boys, boys, can we not start a duel, please?” Hermione’s voice rang clear with authority around the room, and Harry’s stern expression faltered a little.

“You knew, didn’t you, ‘Mione?” Harry asked without taking his eyes off Draco.

“Yep, since that first incident with Snape and Cassia; Malfoy wasn’t the most subtle about his concerns for Maeve.”

Locked in a determined battle not to be the first to back down, I step away from the two boys, leaning back against the stone wall of the common room.

“He knows about the family stuff – Maeve, how do you know that he doesn’t feel this way since he found you out to be a pureblood?” Harry accuses Draco. The blonde’s face contorts in anger at the suggestion and the first spell flies across the room, and Harry’s just quick enough to defend it.

Harry retaliates in anger, and soon jinxes and hexes are speeding across the room, growing in intensity and malintent with every passing second. I wait patiently for one of them to come to their senses, but after five minutes and no change, I sigh in frustration. I throw a shield between them and wait for them to notice.

“Do you have to fight? Really?” I say as they turn to me. “Harry, I get that Draco’s and our past is somewhat tumultuous, but is it entirely impossible for you to put that behind you because I’m happy with him?”

I round on Draco, who’s smirking entirely too much for my liking as I addressed Harry. “You are not off the hook – you didn’t have to attack Harry like that and in Harry’s defence, a lot of the younger years were filled with you calling both Hermione and I mudbloods. It was harsh, but not entirely unfounded for Harry to comment on it.”

His face falls, and I take down the shield, happy that spells aren’t going to fly again. Harry fixes the jinxes Draco landed, and Draco does the same. Then the two men turn to each other, wands away.

“Truce, Malfoy?” Harry asks, sticking out his hand to Draco, who eyes it warily but takes it anyway, nodding his agreement. Harry then turns to me, his face serious.

“I will hex you both if you start making out in front of me,” he warns, and I laugh.

“I’d like to see you try,” I shoot back, and Draco rounds on me, a sudden confusion rounding his aura as he notices my wand on the desk, six feet away from where I’m standing.

Oh shit.

“You can do wandless magic!?” He demands, both impressed and outraged. I nod, and he blows out a controlled breath, calming his temper. “How?”

I smirk at him. “Walters, remember?” I point to myself, and then summon my wand for good measure, driving my point home. Draco runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly at the revelation.

As if the thought only just occurred to him, Harry interrupts what Draco’s about to say with the mention of Quidditch, and we can both honestly say that we have not been sharing too much information. Harry looks impressed on my part, and I glare jokingly at his insinuations.

“If you two are going to behave civilly, do you think I can bring Cassia back down here?” I ask, and they nod in unison, glaring only mildly at each other. I’ll take that as a win.

Cassia comes bounding down the stairs, and jumps straight at Harry, who staggers back slightly under her weight. Between us, we manage to settle in the nook of sofas around the fire and work on some assignments in companionable quiet. Harry works better than I expected him to, surrounded by the three students in the year taking seven or more NEWTs, and there are no serious insults thrown between anyone as questions asked.

I turn to my extra project ideas after a little while, and I find I have finally got an idea for my Potions project, one Snape might actually accept. It is just short of a miracle, and if I can get it to work with enough trials, then this could also help with my overall Potions grade.

I have already tested some of them, when I think about it; I want to show that the combination of muggle and wizarding remedies is effective, and that wizards perhaps shouldn’t be too quick to dismiss Muggle inventions. Maybe giving this to Snape is not the most amazing idea, but there’s not another teacher I could hand work like this into.

I flip idly through my Potions textbook, trying to find some more examples or potions I could modify with muggle ideas, and the one that stands out to me sets my brain whirring. The wizarding contraceptive potion is a unisex potion, but that means it does not work like the Muggle Pill, something I learnt about in the Muggle studies OWL.

The Muggle Pill, whilst entirely sexist as only women can take it, does have its functions other than just for sex. If taken continuously, it can stop periods and help control the regularity and flow. Wizarding Contraceptive potions, whilst unisex, are notoriously difficult to brew and do not do anything for periods. In fact, I am not convinced there are any specifically targeted potions for cramp relief and periods. I make my mind up to research it as much as I can, and mentally grin at the idea of handing a project about periods into the Potions Master.

Oh, this will be fun.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Caity B xx


	21. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: smut (lots of it :) ), and language

***

When lunchtime rolled around, the five of us headed up towards the Great Hall, and the closer we got to the throngs of students, the more nervous Draco became. Just before we turned to final corner, I sent Harry and Hermione on with Cassia, and pulled Draco into an empty classroom.

Locking the door, I turned to the uncharacteristically stressed Slytherin, and my heart softened a little.

“Draco, just because we’ve told Ron and Harry, doesn’t mean we have to announce it to the whole school,” I remind him gently, and he fixes his gaze on the floor.

“It’s just,” he hesitates, sighing, “When the Slytherins find out, it will get back to my parents if I want it to or not; by Salazar, Severus would probably owl my mother himself.”

I pause where I’m standing, wrestling down Harry’s words earlier. I know that Draco doesn’t just care about me because I’ve suddenly become a pureblood in his eyes. Maybe it was just a catalyst to make him realise an attraction he’d not let himself feel before?

Refusing to let Draco know my thoughts, I smiled supportively.

“We don’t have to make a statement, not today, not ever if that’s what you want.” He’s given me time to explain and talk to Harry and Ron. The least I can do is repay that favour. Draco walks towards me and cups my face in his hands, radiating appreciation and gratitude from his aura.

With our bodies pressing close into each other, I closed the space between us and kissed him. Soft hands tangled in my hair and the kiss took an equally slow-and-sensual path.

“You know,” I breathe against his lips, “we probably should be going to lunch, else someone’s going to notice Cassia’s there and I’m not.”

Draco shake his head slightly, his lips brushing against mine. “I’ve kept away all morning with Potter and Granger right there; you’re killing my self-control, Maevey.”

I smirked at him and pulled away, much to his chagrin. He close to whined as I straightened my tie from where our contact had made it crooked and neatened up my hair. Apparently, denial was a turn-on for the Slytherin as when he pulled me back in, I could feel the beginnings of a hard-on through his trousers.

Intentionally increasing the pressure of our contact, I kissed him with a new vigour, and nibbled gently at his bottom lip, relishing in the slight moan escaping his parted lips. I let my hand trail south, spelling his outer robes away into a neat pile on the desk behind us. Draco started a comment on the magic but cut himself off with a groan as I cupped him through his trousers.

“Maeve, do you have any idea what you do to me?” Draco asked pointedly, and I nodded, smirking as I sent an obvious look downwards to his arousal, visible through his trousers. He looked away, embarrassed, and I stepped back, releasing all the pressure on his body in one swift movement. He groaned and twitched slightly at the change, and I grinned as I read through his emotions.

“You know, I know this spell that would take care of that for you.”

Draco glares at my half-heartedly, and the desperation seeping into his aura is somewhat stifling.

“Maeve quit playing around,” he snapped, and I raised an eyebrow. He’s not really angry – he forgets I can read his emotions – but I move back towards him anyway.

“I’m not playing, Draco, but I know you like it really,” I whisper to him, and he unsuccessfully attempts to suppress a groan. Without waiting to ask, my fingers work the zipper on his trousers, and I get my hand around his hard, and wet, cock, kissing him with a ferocity I didn’t know I had in me.

“You like my control, my dominance, and though you claim it, you find my denial incredibly arousing,” I purr into his ear as I pump at his cock roughly, a wandless lubrication spell barely needed at the current state of his cock. He groans, and I’m not sure if he’s truly listening to my words or is wound so tight that whatever I say would turn him on.

“What would you do if I were to just stop?” I murmur to him, and a long, deep groan runs through him. “No, I don’t think so; maybe I’ll just slow down and drag this out,” I continue, the pace of my hand matching my words. When I feel his body tense under mine, I tut slightly in jest, whispering, “Can my Draco not last a little longer?”

He simply groaned again, withholding his own release and I purred my praise into his ear. Recapturing my lips in his slightly hazy lust, I relish in the kiss, and as he’s losing himself in my lips, I start moving my hand on his straining cock, leaking heavily with precum.

The pressure is building up and I speed up my movements, and I know Draco won’t like being denied again. When I feel his emotions at a tipping point, I use my best sultry tone: “Come for me, love.” That’s all it takes for Draco to come undone, and he moans with his eyes closed as I coax him through his release, come splattering messily in my hand and on both of our clothes.

His legs are a little unsteady, and after a wandless cleaning charm, I sling an arm around him. I really would rather him not collapse right now. When he regains his mind fully, he turns to me with a disbelieving yet mischievous grin.

“Maeve fucking Walters, you are properly evil,” he grinned, and I kissed him gently.

“I’ve got to go to lunch; you might want to put your cock away before you leave the room. Wouldn’t want to terrify any straggling first-years,” I tease, and he flushes, embarrassed and I take down all the charms surrounding us and leaving the room.

I took my seat in the Hall a few minutes later, ignoring the questioning looks from my friends. Harry was purposefully avoiding my eyes and I’m sure he guessed what Draco and my time alone had devolved into. Glancing around the hall, something was off.

I couldn’t quite place it; Tonks wasn’t there, but I hadn’t expected her to be back so soon. A few professors were sporting worry in their auras, particularly the Order members, and it crossed my mind that Tonks might not have waited to explain where she was disappearing off to.

Tonks – she would have questions, none of which I would be able to explain away easily. I briefly considered Obliviating my involvement from her memory, but that would leave even more questions on Remus’ part, none of which I could deal with. If Tonks knew it was me, she’d probably do something to help keep it a secret.

I just have to trust her.

Only when students started leaving did it truly hit me what was different.

“People are sitting at different tables,” I breathe out to myself more than anyone else, and I almost slap myself at my own idiocy.

“Mather made an announcement before you got here; she wants to encourage house unity, which apparently starts with sitting at different tables,” Harry explained, and he pointed to the Ravenclaw table, where Ginny and Neville were sat with Luna, and I can’t believe I didn’t notice.

Admittedly, meals at weekends weren’t technically mandatory, but I’d never known Ginny to miss a meal. I deliberately kept my eyes away from the Slytherin table, and I scanned for anyone else who had moved. The Patil twins were sitting together at the Gryffindor table, and there were other students lower down the school who had mixed. I could see only one Slytherin who had moved table, and he was a first year, sitting with an identical twin on the Hufflepuff table.

Naively, I hoped that the Slytherin wouldn’t face any stigma, but I knew they would. Baby steps, baby steps. This is just the first meal – hopefully we can get somewhere further down the line.

***

When Tonks appeared at my door later into that afternoon, she was surprised to see Draco, Harry and Hermione all getting along in here – in defence classes, we hadn’t exactly been on friendly terms since Harry had beaten Draco in a duel.

“Maeve, I need to speak with you in my office,” Tonks recovered, and I nodded, leaving my sister in the capable hands of my friends. I follow her in silence down the corridor and into her office. She directs me into a chair without a word, and I have enough sense to listen to her.

She falls heavily into her own seat, shedding the same robe she’d donned this morning before leaving.

“Remus is recovering in the hospital wing – St Mungo’s refused to admit a werewolf patient,” she explained as I raised an eyebrow. “How in Merlin’s name did you find him?”

I pause before answering, “It depends, Professor. How much of this will Remus hear?”

Tonks shot me a questioning look and I drew my arms across my chest, folding them in a self-conscious motion. Her Auror eyes are penetrating, like she could figure it all out from a single sweeping look over my whole body.

“Remus will hear none of this from me; he will have questions when he wakes up,” she reminds me, and I nod. I’m not entirely naïve – this random burst of my magic wouldn’t go unquestioned by anyone, but with some luck, Remus won’t recognise that it was me who found him.

“I found him using Legilimency,” I say bluntly, and Tonks’ jaw drops. “I’m kind of a Walters,” I add, and she blinks, uncomprehendingly. “Legilimency skills run in my family, and I’m good at what I do.”

Intentionally, I leave out having read Remus’ mind in depth before. He doesn’t really know about that, and I’d love to keep it that way. He always was resigned to the fact that we would figure it out eventually, and I think he just thought me to be a little more perceptive.

“Maeve Walters,” Tonks breathes, and leans back in her seat at a comfortable angle, never seeming more like just one of the students rather than a professor. She was sporting her typical pink hair, though it was messy and had a few muddy streaks. “You can use Legilimency to search the whole country for a person?”

I nod and give her a few moments to come up with her next question. Though Tonks may be an expert in her own family skills – being a Metamorphmagus and all – I know nothing of her knowledge of Legilimens. Auror training must encompass some sorts of Legilimency training, but I don’t see Tonks’ shields to be too intense. Not like Snape’s.

“Have you been using Legilimency in our classes?” I try and detect anything malicious in her intent, but there’s nothing, just mere curiosity.

“Not in duels, but I use it to talk to friends across class if they’re about to do something stupid; not so much in Defence, but usually in Potions and Transfiguration,” I confirm, and Tonks grins.

“Theoretically, could you use it in duels?”

“Oh yes, of course. It’d make my life so much easier too, but it’s a little unfair on everyone else, plus I can’t have people figuring out that I’m a Walters and spreading it around the school,” I pause, gaging Tonks’ reaction. “It’s about Cassia’s safety more than anything.”

She gives me another scrutinising stare, and I shift, slightly uncomfortably, in my seat.

“You are going to make a great addition to the Order,” she remarked finally, a twinkle in her eyes. “When’s your birthday?”

“November 29th,” I say, and Tonks grins.

“Inducted by Christmas then.” I return her enthusiasm; being a part of the Order would be a first for the Walters, or at least, no one told me they had been part of it.

That means Christmas at Grimmauld Place; I’m not entirely sure how I feel about Cassia being at Grimmauld Place, but then again, she won’t be the only underage witch or wizard there. Ron and Harry and Ginny won’t be of age by Christmas and judging on how well the three of them get on with my little sister, I hardly expect they will have many complaints.

Both Hermione and I can be inducted this Christmas – the thought is slightly terrifying, but it truly feels like the right next step. Officially, we’ll be on the same level as some of the professors, and that is empowering.

Not that anyone would truly be on the same level as McGonagall, or Dumbledore.

“Has Remus said anything?” I ask after a little silence. “He, well, I know he’s important to Harry, and I’m sure Harry would want to go and see him, if that’s possible.”

Tonks tilted her head slightly, and I felt the full force of her worry for Remus. Keeping my expression neutral, I tried not to let her know I’d just figured out her feelings for the man.

“He didn’t say much, started talking about a Maggie before he passed out from the blood loss. Mean anything to you?” I nod my head, feeling sick.

“Maggie was my mother,” I whisper, and I take a deep, steadying breath, returning my voice to normal. “Remus should have someone with him to explain; I understand you have classes tomorrow, but if you could, or I could tell Harry what’s happened.”

I stand from my seat, awaiting Tonks’ answer, and she insists that she does it, and that I at least come to see him, even if I don’t stay.

“Remus always mentioned how you were so kind to him when he was a teacher; he would want to see you,” Tonks assured me as I tried to back out.

“If he connects me to the Walters, I will be removing parts of his memory,” I warn Tonks, and I’m not sure how serious she thinks I am, because she nods idly, slinging a clean robe over her shoulders.

I follow her down to the hospital wing, nerves growing with every step. I was being serious when I said I’d remove his memory (only parts of it connecting me, of course) but I don’t want it to come down to that. Hopefully, Remus will be knocked out cold from some potions and draughts Madam Pomphrey dosed him with, and I won’t have to say anything.

The corridors are loud, and filled with lots of the younger years, who haven’t figured out how to do homework more than the night before it’s due date. Their happiness isn’t dampened by mine or Tonks’ presence as we traverse the corridors together, heading towards the hospital wing.

Remus isn’t in the main wing, but off in a side room, and Pomphrey is just coming out of the room as we walk in. She wisely doesn’t argue with our presence, but limits the time we can be there, and under no circumstances are either of us sleeping by his bed.

That’s probably fair.

Remus is awake, but barely, and he’s so doped up on potions I doubt he’ll remember this conversation. He’s in an awful condition, bruised and battered so there’s barely a strip of unmarked skin visible, and deep, red scratches mar his face and neck

“’Dora!” His eyes light up as they land on the pink haired Hufflepuff, and then they slide to me. “Maeve?” he asks, almost as a question. In that instant, I’m glad I got my father’s looks, and not my mother’s. If I had, I can’t imagine the connections he would be able to make.

“Yeah, I just wanted to see how you were doing,” I whisper, hanging back away from his bed as Tonks takes the seat by his side.

Tonks takes Remus’ hand, and I feel oddly like I’m intruding on a private moment.

“I’ve been worse,” Remus said heavily, and Tonks glared at him.

“Remus John Lupin, stop negating your suffering!” Remus’ eyes widen, and I lean back casually against the doorframe.

“Sorry ‘Dora,” he murmurs, and I know that’s the potions talking. Remus doesn’t apologise, nor does he readily back down from a fight. I know that much.

As he’s distracted, I probe into his mind, my usual reservations disappearing at the thought that my own secret could be revealed. Realistically, Remus is probably one of the people I could trust the best at keeping secrets, since his own lack of secret hurts him so much. His lycanthropy out in the open makes him a target, and I’m sure he wouldn’t do that to me for my Legilimency, or my family name.

Especially if he knew my mother. Although, I’m not sure in what context did he know her. She had fewer reservations than I did about invading minds, and according to my aunt Matilda, and that would give her a fair number of enemies, especially ones who had deep secrets like Remus.

He’s made no connections between me and the Maggie he has in his mind, and I leave his mind untouched.

“Can I go and get Harry?” I ask gently, and Remus nods, face contorting in pain. I slip out of the room as Tonks is telling him to try and sleep.

 _Harry?_ I ask across the castle, leaning against the walls outside the hospital wing.

 _Maeve, what’s going on?_ He returned instantly, and I had to fight to keep my emotions in check.

 _Need you in the hospital wing – come alone,_ I instruct, and I leave the connection open, though filtered, as Harry makes a Quidditch excuse to Hermione and Draco.

 _Maeve, please explain, you’re scaring me,_ Harry asked, and I briefly gave him the run-down of what had happened to Remus, or at least, as far as his memory had served of the trauma. Harry’s anxiety grew, and when he rounded the last corner to the hospital wing doors, I met him half-way, enveloping him in my arms.

“He will be fine, but I thought you’d want to know,” I murmur, and I feel him nod. “You go in; he can’t know I’m a Walters.”

Harry shoots me a sad smile as he turns into the hospital wing, and I steel my emotions, knowing I’ve done more than enough to help Remus – I found him, for Godric’s sake. And he’s got Harry, and Tonks with him.

Remus Lupin will be fine.

***

As curfew nears later in the night, Hermione leaves to head back to Gryffindor Tower, and I put Cassia to bed, and she does down a lot easier than she has in the past week. I’d actually remembered to send off the letter to Mrs Weasley today, borrowing Hedwig with Harry’s permission, and I was eager for a reply. I also sent a letter off with a school owl to Aunt Hannah, asking her to send me a variety of different muggle medications by post, which could be interesting to have to explain away should one of the professors decide it’s suspicious.

Finally, Draco and I were alone again, and when I left Cassia’s room, he instantly rounded on me, dragging me into my own room.

“Is this about earlier?” I ask instantly, and he nods wordlessly. “I’m sorry if I took it too far, I thought I knew what I was doing, and you seemed to be enjoying it,” I manage to say, words blurring together at my haste to get them out.

Draco stops me with a kiss, and I breathe in sharply at the contact.

“Maeve, please stop,” he says with a laugh as we break apart, and I mime sealing my lips. “I’ll admit, you surprised me, but in a good way. Although I’m a little apprehensive about whatever that spell is,” he grinned lopsidedly, “I’d quite like to see where we can go with this little power game.”

“You would?”

“Yeah, though I’m not promising to surrender complete control to you at all times,” he jokes, and I shut him up with a kiss, rough and passionate. His body responds immediately, pressing in close to mine, and I lock the door with idle wandless magic, and check on the silencing portion of the wards. It held strong, and I banished all practical responsibilities from my brain.

I let my fingers work at his tie, and then his buttons as we kissed, and his tongue slipped inside my mouth, thoroughly exploring with his hands firmly planted on my waist, toying with the hem of my jumper. Wordlessly, I held up my arms and he discarded the fabric, ditching his own shirt at the same time.

Kicking out of my shoes, we fumbled around with each other’s clothes until we were both just left in our underwear. Draco was thoroughly aroused, as I was, and together we fell back into my bed, lips still attached.

I knew enough about this kind of power play that it fell within the realm of BDSM. In terms of the scale, it was very ‘vanilla’, but I knew little of what the extremes fell to. My only knowledge came from Seamus, who, during our few escapades, showed himself to be a kinky bastard.

“Draco, will you trust me?” I breathe to him, leaving kisses all the way down his neck. He nods, and I toy with the waistband of his boxers, putting up a wandless Acuity charm around us, heightening both our senses. According to Seamus, it works a dream, though I’ve never tried it before. I also make the effort to open my emotions to him, transmitting to him without a filter.

I vanish both of our underwear with a wave of my hand, and Draco looks at me, impressed. I wink coyly at him, sitting so as he moves, his erect cock brushes against me.

“If I tell you you’re not allowed to cum until I say, how do you feel?” I ask, leaning down to kiss him. He tilts his head back against the pillow, considering briefly before nodding.

“I’m happy with that,” he confirms aloud, and I move my body against his, brushing my wet sex against his cock, and we both moan at the contact. I honestly can’t believe we have both waited this long to go all the way; it feels so good to have no barriers between either of us.

I summon a vial of the contraceptive potion I’d brewed earlier this year – I’ve already got one kid I’m looking after; I definitely don’t need another one. I drink it quickly, discarding the empty vial.

Pulling my body back, I kiss the tip of his dick, already wet with precum, and he’s struggling to fight his rising arousal. Seeing the blonde so dishevelled already from the brief intimacy so far is a complete turn-on, and even if I couldn’t read his emotions, I have no doubts I would know how mad he is for me.

Taking in length in my mouth, I run my tongue up the prominent veins bulging from the tension and under the small V-shape under his head in slow, deliberate motions. Turning Draco on turns me on, and I find my own stomach clenching as I continue my ministrations.

I feel his hardness grow, if that was even possible, and I pull away, relishing in the uncensored whine Draco let out.

“Oh, stop your complaining; apparently, I’ve got to teach you patience,” I smirk, lying next to him and kissing him heavily, the taste of his own precum transferring into Draco’s mouth. He cringes slightly at the idea of tasting himself, and I pull back with a wicked look on my face.

“Whatever you’re going to say,” Draco started, and I wrapped a hand around his straining cock. “I-I don’t like- ugh,” Draco cut his sentence off with a moan, and I kissed him again, swallowing the sounds he was making.

“What don’t you like?” I tease, ghosting a hand over his nipples, twisting one of them with my other hand. He groans, shaking his head. At the sounds he’s making, my patience abruptly comes to an end, and I climb back on top of him, his hands straying to play with my breasts. I swat them away, and he, even in his lust-filled haze, manages to crease his brows in confusion.

I simply wink at him, and instead he settles his hands on my hips, well, closer to my arse, as I line myself up on his cock, eyes meeting Draco’s in confirmation for my next actions. He nods and moans as I start to lower myself onto his cock, stretching myself inch by glorious inch around Draco’s cock.

My eyes slip closed at the pleasure of being filled completely, and I hear Draco moan under me as I begin to undulate my hips. Apparently, that’s all Draco can take of me on top (not that I’m complaining), and in a swift motion, I’m lying on my back, looking up into the stormy-grey eyes of the Slytherin.

Then, he’s moving. Slowly at first, my lips captured in his as his languid pace begins to build up the pressure inside me. Thrusts speed up, become less precise, and I cry out in pleasure as his other hand finds my clit, rubbing his fingers over the sensitive point.

“Draco,” I moaned, tugging my hands at his hair. He groans at the change in pressure, and I feel my body tighten around him involuntarily. His pants grow in frequency, in effort of holding back his own release.

“Maeve, I can’t – I’m going to –” he cut off as I shook my head, groaning deeply. Thrusts slowed as he attempted to control himself, and his desire to listen to my command pushes me over the edge into my own climax, and I clench around the Slytherin, orgasm washing over all my control.

Draco’s whining needily as he withholds himself, and I come back to my senses, rolling my hips around Draco’s leaking cock, and bring him down to kiss me, and I can feel the pulsating cock inside me, desperate for release.

“Come for me, love,” I murmur into his mouth, kissing him heavily as I move through his release, milking him for all he’s worth, and ensnaring his relief-filled moans with my lips.

He rides out the full length of his orgasm, and pulls himself out of me, breathing heavily as he laid on the bed beside me.

“Shit, Maeve,” he murmurs, voice taking on a semi-dream-like quality, and I sigh at his happy delirium. “I love you.”

I freeze as he drops off to sleep beside me, and my mind starts running at a mile a minute. In a risky move, I drop a kiss to his forehead, and whisper back, “I love you too.”

***


	22. Conflict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: swearing, abuse of power

***

Ron continued to ignore me in the following week, making Quidditch practice somewhat tricky. Admittedly, I don’t have too much contact with the Keeper, but the ‘protect the team from the bludgers’ mandate includes the grumpy Weasley.

I refused to stoop to his level and flat-out ignore his presence when the bludger was flying around, and instead, I took it all in my stride, ignoring him whenever it was made possible.

I was also avoiding mentioning the probably-accidental ‘I love you’ Draco and I had exchanged on Sunday night. Draco was practically high on endorphins and bringing it up would put a pressure on him I really don’t want to add.

He got a letter on Monday morning that annoyed him enough to storm out of the hall; when I brought it up, he shut me down instantly. My patience is running slightly thinly, but I’m not planning on ever breaking my promise not to invade his mind. Draco will talk to me when he’s ready to.

On the bright side, Remus was out of the hospital wing by Thursday morning, and Tonks had taken him back to Grimmauld place before breakfast. The downside to Thursday night is that it brings mine and Harry’s first Legilimency session with Snape, and at dinner, we are both particularly subdued. I barely eat, which I can get away with if Cassia’s having a fussy evening, which tonight she was. Harry’s lack of appetite gets some questions, the particularly forward ones from Ron – no surprises there.

It crosses my mind to consider if Snape could be nervous too. Not that I particularly care if he is, but when people have frayed minds, they are easier to get into, and that could work in our favour. Listen to me, sounding like a Slytherin; this must be Draco’s influence.

Hermione isn’t here, but she was at lunch, and as of right now, I can’t be trying to look after anyone else. With Cassia, Harry, and Draco all in the front of my mind, I’m reaching my capacity for worries that don’t affect my shields. So instead I make a small comment to Lavender and Romilda to keep an eye on Hermione tonight for me, which they readily agree to. Even those two are starting to notice something’s up with their dormmate, and that’s when you truly know it’s serious.

Draco knows about this lesson, and we make our excuses of detention dutifully to the Gryffindors, none of whom seem surprised at yet another detention with Snape. Seamus makes a comment that at least we’re not losing too many house points if we’re in detention, and I roll my eyes at him across the table.

Cassia climbs into Ginny’s lap, and I shoot an appreciative smile at the youngest Weasley.

Casting my eyes only once to the Slytherin table before we leave, Draco’s engaged in a lively debate with some of his housemates, and it’s a relief to see him getting along with them. With all the time he’s been spending with me, and as a result, not with them, I’ve been slightly concerned that he’s putting too much distance between them.

It doesn’t look to be an issue from here.

Whatever the Malfoy name means to everyone else, it sure looks like it commands some respect from the Slytherins.

“Might want to be more subtle than that,” Harry hissed at me, and I snapped my eyes to his, reading the twisted humour running there. I shake my head and we head down the stairs, bypassing my room and heading to Potions Room Two.

Harry hesitates at the door, and I swallow my own nerves.

“We can ditch now, go back to my room; I’ll tell Snape something happened,” I offer, but Harry shakes his head. When he’s about to head through the door, I put an arm in his path, looking sceptically at the warding around the door. It’s different from how it was last time we were in here, but I don’t recognise some of the runes. Rather than wasting time trying to figure out the exact meanings, I neutralise the wards and we walk through.

Snape looks displeased at my manipulation of the wards but doesn’t mention it as he directs us into two chairs.

“For reasons much to my displeasure, Albus has decided I need to be the one to teach you Legilimency.” Snape’s lip curled in malice. “Since Miss Ellis has shown an aptitude for the art already, you could probably learn a thing or two from her.”

Snape is already testing my patience. This is utterly ridiculous – I can teach Harry all he needs to know about legilimency and occlumency without any of the anger. Anger isn’t going to get Harry anywhere with his skill – it’s only going to make him more vulnerable, and I have a horrible feeling that Snape knows that.

“Miss Ellis, you aren’t to interfere whilst I gauge Mr Potter’s current competency.”

I sit back in my chair, taking a stance of indifference that I know probably isn’t fooling anyone, but it allows them to overlook me as I keep a baseline of each of their emotions. If Snape gets too violent or angry, or if Harry too vulnerable or upset, or angry, for that matter, I’m going to intervene and separate them.

I don’t care what Snape says.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” Snape uttered calmly, pointing his wand at Harry. The Gryffindor gasped, gripping the arms of the chair and it takes all my self-restraint not to jump out of my seat and force the two minds apart.

Monitoring carefully what Snape was watching in Harry’s mind, I caught flashes of memories, recent memories only, of the summer at Grimmauld Place, and my absence is notable in all those scenes.

Snape leaves Harry’s mind voluntarily and smirks as Harry’s hands shake. _Bastard, bloody bastard._

My mask slips as a wave of anger returns to Harry’s eyes and the initial shock of Snape being in his mind wears off.

“The Dark Lord could access any of your memories, Mr Potter. Is that really what you want?” His tone isn’t outright taunting – yet – but it’s harsh enough.

“You have to clear your mind, brush emotion aside, that’s the access point,” I say, constructively, whilst Snape just glares. “Harry, I know you can do it; just focus on keeping him out.”

Renewed determination sparks in his eyes, and Snape, still glaring at me, casts the spell again, his intent growing more malicious as his anger grows. I check in on Harry’s mind, see what Snape’s doing, and what damage he might be causing, and previous years’ memories are flashing, none particularly horrific, but to have a teacher, to have _Snape_ see them, it’s all wrong. It’s so wrong.

With a burst of his energy, Harry ejects Snape from his mind, and the professor glowers.

“I saw much more than I should – any of that information could be used against you, do you hear me, Potter?”

Harry looks ready to retaliate, and I cut in, “Maybe, since you insisted on my presence, you should give him an example of how to defend his mind, with me.”

I’ve basically just offered Snape a try at getting into my mind – he’d have to be mad not to take it. Unfortunately, I can’t label him insane just yet, as he agrees to the idea, and I set Harry up with a link to me, without telling Snape, just so he can watch what I do, from the edges of my mind.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” Snape casts, and I allow my emotions to drain out of me, reinforcing the strength of my shield with my detachment. Snape sees nothing, absolutely nothing, and he withdraws in his own time, seeing that he can’t make any further intrusions.

“Detachment forms shields, the most basic kind,” I explain to Harry as I snap him out of my mind. “There are more complicated ones too, but for now, you just need a foundation in the skill.”

Harry nods, somewhat smug at Snape’s inability. I shut him down in that thought as the Potions Master glances between us.

“Mr Potter. Again. Ready your mind.” Harry side-eyes me, and I nod reassuring, assuming my position as mediator between the two men. I predict Snape’s annoyance at his failure with me, and unfortunately, I’m correct.

Snape dives further into Harry’s mind, aiming at memories Harry is attempting to repress, and I dig my fingernails into my palms to ground myself from doing something stupid. Flashes of Sirius appear, Lupin’s transformation, Buckbeak’s execution, Hermione’s petrification.

An awful scream escapes Harry as he drives Snape out of his mind, slipping out of his chair and to the floor from the exertion. I’m next to him in a heartbeat, wrapping my arms protectively around him and putting up shields in his mind, so Snape can’t try anything whilst he’s upset.

He’s not crying, not quite, but he’s shaking a little, and I whisper some ideas into his ear for what we could do to get back at him. This isn’t fair, none of it is, and Snape’s being an arsehole about his “help”.

A slither of reassurance returns to his mind, and I promise him to stop Snape before he gets that far into Harry’s memories again. Harry murmurs a question to me, asking permission, and help, for what he wants to do, and I shoot him an evil grin, nodding my consent to this idea. It doesn’t hurt the Slytherin, but he’s about to get a lot more information than he bargained for.

When we return to our seats, Snape is smirking confidently. “If you can’t take me in your mind, Mr Potter, then how are you going to deal with the Dark Lord?”

Harry doesn’t dignify the professor with a response, and I suppress a smirk as he concentrates. Snape takes it as an opportunity, and I watch from the outside, playing my part as gatekeeper when Snape sees the memory, the one memory, circling Harry’s mind, and tries to leave instantly. I block the access with a relatively simple spell that he won’t know for sure was me – maybe it was just Harry’s subconscious taking revenge? Who can say for sure?

True laughter runs through my body as Snape’s discomfort grows and grows at the memory – a washed-out, hazy version of the memory of our night in fourth year. Snape can see no details, nothing too inappropriate, but it’s no secret who the memory concerns, nor what we’re doing in the prefect’s bathroom.

It’s strange to watch the memory back now, after all this time, and all these changes, but using it against Snape was a brilliant idea on Harry’s part. When the professor breaks the spell, I stumble clumsily out of Harry’s mind and back into my own body, grinning at Harry and the livid look on Snape’s face.

We’re both too pleased at how successful our little plan was that I don’t notice Snape wordlessly cast the spell again, brutally attacking Harry’s mind with renewed evil intentions, and Harry’s mind drains of everything but anger at the sudden attack.

The anger only allows Snape better access, access to his deeper, more painful memories, and at the strangled noise escaping Harry’s throat, I can’t stand it anymore. We were being overall harmless – Snape has no right to Harry’s greatest fears. No right, none at all.

Violently, I rip Snape’s presence from Harry’s mind without moving from my seat, my body perfectly still in provoked focus. I don’t give him a chance to recover from his unexpected exit, and, though I’m sorely tempted, I don’t instantly bypass all Snape’s shields to what he’s most intent on hiding.

No, I’m just trying to scare him now. Deepest secrets can be discovered later.

I sift through the first stores of memories, ignoring the mundane teaching moments, endless detentions he’s supervised, papers he’s graded, and head for the second shield. As far as I can see, he’s got about ten layers of shielding to his mind – I mean, even I’m not this paranoid. I just stick to a couple of levels and make them entirely impenetrable.

Snape is panicking, truly panicking. I slide through the second shield, watching a few meetings with Dumbledore about the Order with interest. Dumbledore is somewhat of a sly bastard sometimes. I find a few innocuous memories from his childhood, with his mother, and I stifle a laugh at my discovery, releasing my control just enough to let Snape throw me out.

Returning to my own mind, I spare a single glance for Snape, pleased to see he’s shaken up and all hints of colour have drained from his face. Harry’s shaking, and bad memories swirl in the front of his mind.

_I can’t tell Harry about what I saw_. It dawns on me that he really isn’t in a place where he can hear this, and I hoist the boy to his feet, and we leave the room without waiting to be dismissed.

Thankfully, we’re not far from my own quarters, and I let us through the wards, flicking my wand with half a thought to make tea. Summoning a blanket, I drape it around his shaking shoulders, and press a warm mug into his hands.

“Drink,” I instruct gently, and as his mind quiets with the first sip, I banish any uncertainties I had about adding a Calming Draught to his tea. Sometimes my potions stock comes in handy.

Harry’s shaky and I’m concerned he’s going to slop hot tea all over himself.

I mentally ask Cassia if she can ask Ginny to bring her down here – I don’t want to leave him alone for a second if I can help it, and taking my back to Gryffindor Tower right now is a recipe for disaster.

I set the music to play lowly, and sit beside him, pulling him in close to me. Second-hand shivers wrack through me, and I do my best to help without invading his mind. We’ve both had enough of that for today, and even an innocuous invasion from me might set something off.

Ginny doesn’t linger when she drops Cassia here at my request, and Harry’s still too shaken to even acknowledge another presence in the room. She promises secrecy, and Cassia reads Harry’s emotions instantly. He allows her into his arms, as I take the mug of tea from him, and he rests his head on my shoulder.

I intercept Cassia’s hand before she puts it to his face and give her a meaningful look.

“Remember to ask, Cassia,” I say, and she turns to Harry, who’s watching us curiously.

“Can I show you something?” she asks, and Harry nods without really realising what she’s about to do. When Cassia presses a palm to his face, he gasps a little, and I watch carefully for any signs of a bad reaction, but there aren’t any.

Cassia takes my hand to loop me in, and mentally, I connect into the scene.

We’re at Hogwarts, in the Great Hall, but that’s about the only normal thing about this scene. All the trusted Order members and their families are present, and the entire Weasley clan. School-friends are milling about, and with a wave of Cassia’s imagination, it morphs into a scene almost like the Yule Ball.

I grin as Harry’s mental figure asks mine to dance, and the music coming into our minds is a beautiful slow song, and we sway easily together to it. Hermione and Ron dance near us, and a true joy associated with this vision/dream sinks into both of our minds.

As the picture fades away, I take in Harry’s smiling face and Cassia’s sleeping form, comfortably draped on Harry’s lap. I kiss Harry’s cheek, and pick up my sister, promising to be back as soon as I’ve settled her in bed.

Magically performing her night routine on her whilst she sleeps is a good trick, although it’s going to be somewhat of a shock to her when she comes to Hogwarts for herself and has to put effort back into her self-care. I tuck her under her covers, relaxing the wards at the door when I feel the ring pulse with Draco’s name without a second thought.

Cassia snuggles into her hippogriff teddy without hesitation, and I quietly tiptoe out of her room, closing the door firmly behind me.

Downstairs, I swear softly, and both boys look at me. At least they’re not staring daggers at each other now.

Harry had curled up in his seat, doing his best to make himself appear as small as possible, and was wiping away the tears as they fell. Draco, on the other hand, had the appearance of being put together, but by his emotions, one wrong word would have him crashing down into his own tears.

_My two boys_ , I thought affectionately, and I was entirely conflicted. What the hell do I do now?

Draco crossed the room to me, and I hugged him fiercely. The fact that he was willing to hug me in front of Harry only worsened my suspicions, and my worries kept growing. This had to be about the mysterious letter. It just _had_ to be.

I was still very aware of the Gryffindor on the sofa, and I didn’t know what to do. Draco wanted to talk about this, that much was clear.

_Draco, love, will you let me help Harry supress his nightmares, and then I promise I’m all yours?_ I ask mentally, and Draco agrees with a jerky nod. The Slytherin heads off upstairs without a word, and I sit next to Harry.

“You need to get some sleep, Legilimency like that is mentally and magically taxing and if you don’t get a decent sleep, you’re not going to be at your best tomorrow for your next duel in Defence,” I say logically, and allow Harry to cuddle into me as I work my magic.

I transfigure on of the armchairs into a bed, and conjure some blankets, and pyjamas. Stoking up the fire a little, I turn to Harry, who looks resigned to what he knows either he or I need to do.

“Can you do it?” he murmurs quietly, and I nod. As gentle as I can, I enter his mind and put up the barest minimum of shields to keep the nightmares at bay – with his mind in the state it’s in, putting up more severe shields might cause some sort of mental rejection, which is really not a nice experience.

Take it from me; it’s best not to know.

I offer him a sleeping potion, but he rejects it. I turn politely as he gets changed, and when he clears his throat, he’s giving me a guilty look.

“I don’t mean to come between you and Malfoy,” he says honestly, and I shrug.

“You’re not; Draco understands that I help you where I can.”

Harry shakes his head with a smile. “Too good for us, you are, Maevey. Go check on him; he looked a little off when he walked in.”

I smile appreciatively, and I know Harry’s doing his thing where he pushes away his own issues, but with Draco in the front of my mind, I can’t argue with his logic. I kiss his cheek and disappear upstairs.

Knocking on my own door is slightly strange, but I do it anyway. Draco opens it with a roll of his eyes, and I go in, feeling oddly out of place in my own space.

“I’m sorry, we had that Legilimency lesson and it was awful.” My excuses are technically necessary, but I feel the need to explain to Draco what’s going on. Confiding in him feels good, it feels safe.

Draco says nothing and pulls me into his arms. His body is shaking slightly, and I clumsily guide us to sit on the edge of my bed. I’m startled when I feel him crying, and I don’t know what to say. Wordlessly, I murmur calming nonsense and rub circles on his back, taking on all his rush of emotions without a single regret.

When he pulls away with a guilty look on his face, I smile at him gently, combing my fingers through his fringe.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m here. If not, that’s okay, but I’m always here for you,” I say sincerely, and Draco swallows heavily, unable to look me in the eyes.

“My father wants me to take the Mark,” Draco whispered, almost inaudibly, and I restrain the gasp.

Without letting go of his hand, I ask, “And what do you want?”

He pulls away from me, dropping my hand. Abruptly standing up, he starts pacing.

“I don’t want to join the Dark Lord; it’s a load of shit and anyone can see what he’s doing is wrong. But my father doesn’t give a toss about my opinions these days, it’s all about regaining the Malfoy honour and I hate it, I hate him.”

“Then don’t take it,” I offer, and Draco looks at me, defeated.

“If I go back to the Manor, then I won’t leave until I’ve taken it,” he sighs, and without my notice, his wand is now in his hand, twitching in his fingers. “All the Floos are being blocked, and I can’t apparate, besides, I have no where else to go.” Sparks fly defeatedly from his wand, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he paces up and down, anger shaking his hands. I summon his wand out of his hand, and he glares at me.

“I’d rather you didn’t set something on fire accidentally. It’s a right pain to repair burnt furnishings.” My bluntness seems to break a string of tension in Draco, and he cracks a smile, shaking his head slightly in despair.

I pat the bed next to me, and he sits, fidgeting in the most un-Malfoy-ish manner I’ve ever witnessed. An idea comes to my mind, and I look directly at him, guiding his chin upwards so our eyes meet.

“I, Maeve Anne Walters, give you, Draco Lucius Malfoy, permission to enter Walter Manor.” My words have no visible effect on him, but I give him a knowing smile. “The wards around Walter Manor are old, ridiculously so, and that’s just how they work. But, if you need somewhere to run away to, Floo to the manor overrides any blocks put on grates.”

Draco gives me a slightly disapproving shake of his head. “What can I say? I have some paranoid ancestors?”

Draco manages a laugh, but his mind is clouded with a small amount of panicked concern. “You haven’t been back there in years, have you? I don’t want to stir anything up.”

“And I don’t want a boyfriend who’s unwillingly given the Dark Mark,” I shoot back at him, and I put a finger over his lips to shut him up. “The manor will alert me when someone enters; since it’s technically mine, all the magic answers to me.”

Draco pokes out his tongue and licks my finger, and I make an exasperated face. “Are you actually five?”

“Nope,” he grins, and kisses me. “I love you, Maeve,” he says earnestly, and I smile.

“I love you too,” I reply, and kiss him again. When his hands find my shirt buttons, I push him away. “Not tonight; we’ve got Defence tomorrow morning, and I’m not giving anyone any chance at beating me,” I grin competitively, and Draco shakes his head slowly.

“As if they have a chance in the first place,” he teases, and takes off his own shirt, changing into a pair of pyjama bottoms.

I put on my own pyjamas, and I’m somewhat expecting an interrupted night; Cassia’s mind is more restless than usual, and of course, Harry could break through those shields accidentally. Draco’s been threatened with the Dark Mark by his father – I’d say that’s grounds for fear to slip into his dreams too.

“Thank you for not saying anything to Harry,” I whisper as we climb into bed. “Snape was really rough with the Legilimency and brought up almost all Harry’s bad memories to try and prove a point.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “I was hardly going to protest; anyone with eyes could tell he was a complete wreck. I’m not heartless.”

“Where’s my Slytherin Ice Prince?” I joke, and he glares at me in the dim light. “Nah, that guy was a bit of an arse; I like my Draco better.”

Silence falls comfortably around us, and Draco draws me in so I’m leaning on his chest. The steady rhythm of rising and falling almost sends me to sleep, but then he speaks.

“I’m not going anywhere, Maevey,” he says sleepily, and I make an appreciative noise, unable to form proper words in my current state. A laugh shoots through Draco’s chest, and his fingers find my hair, playing comfortingly with the auburn locks not-so-artfully draped over the pillows.

His fingers still as crying reaches our ears, and I’m out of bed like a shot with an apologetic look Draco’s way. I don’t wait for a response and bolt out the room, and into Cassia’s.

Picking up my little sister as she cries, I rock her in my arms and mentally provide comfort, pacing around her room and removing the wisps of a nightmare from her mind. If only I could do that with Harry, but he’s far too likely to realise there’s something missing and it mess up his mental state further.

She cries out as I go to put her down, and I apologise softly, walking slowly around her room as I set the kettle downstairs to start making tea, and flicking on the magical mobile, its sweet tones filling the room. I nudge the door open so the music flows all around my quarters and will hopefully help soothe and settle the other two.

With a half-asleep Cassia in my arms, I traipse downstairs and make tea the muggle way with my free hand. Although, spiking the tea with a sleeping draught isn’t _muggle_ per se, it’s a useful trick. I make no sound thanks to a portable silencing charm, but Harry wakes regardless, coming to paralysed with fear, and I take down the charm, and head over to him.

With Cassia shifted onto one hip, I sit on the edge of Harry’s transfigured bed, and take his hand. His bright green eyes are filled with terror, unobstructed by his glasses, and tears threaten to fall.

“I’m sorry, Maevey,” Harry whispered, and I shake my head, ignoring the apology.

“I’ll just go and put Cassia upstairs, and then we can talk about it, okay?” Harry nods, eyes filled with shame, and I summon the tea and press the cup into his hands. “Drink. I’ll be right back.”

With any luck, the sleeping potion might knock him out, but I’m not counting on it. Tonight is going to be a long night.

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your Kudos!
> 
> \- Caity B xx


	23. Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: anorexia/bulimia from one of the characters, language

***

Snape was livid the next time I saw him. But he kept out of Harry’s mind, and that felt like a win.

Even when he was throwing curses at us in a duelling session as preparation for when we join the Order.

I don’t think dark magic was strictly speaking on the agenda for this practice, and Snape and I were the only ones practicing it. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were using softer spells, mostly jinxes and hexes, and I was only using the worst spells on Snape himself.

Unsurprisingly, Snape didn’t have any of the same reservations.

We were in a free-for-all, defending from all angles and attacking anyone you could get a spell to. It meant shields needed to curve around the body to protect and keeping track of everyone around us. Who they were attacking and when we needed to throw up our defensive shield could both be figured out. Curving shields wasn’t necessarily an easy task and often people had weak spots in their shields if they tried to stretch them too far.

Hermione was the first to go – very unlike her – and Harry stunned her, the spell slipping through the gap in her shield that left her partial unprotected. When she crumpled to the floor, I hesitated with my own attacks, watching how easily her body fell. Curled up on the floor, she looked even smaller than usual, swathed in robes that seemed far too big for her.

Snape captured my attention again with a Cutting Curse, and it nicked my arm, bringing me back to the present and forcing me to throw a shield up.

I hope this room is protected from the dark magic alert wards, because if not, Dumbledore’s about to break in here, and he’s not going to be happy.

A little growl escapes me as I survey my cut arm behind my shield. My shields have always curved around me, for little apparent reason. I know my mother was good at her shields, but I don’t think that should make mine better. It’s not a trait that gets passed down.

As Ron’s distracted trying to hex Snape, I send a stunner his way, and the force of it sends him flying backwards slightly, knocking him out. Harry makes the same mistake I did, and gets distracted by his fallen friend, which I use to my advantage. Casting an _expelliarmus_ , I catch his wand with a triumphant wink at Harry.

Harry backs against the wall, getting out Snape’s and my way, and I turn to fully face the Slytherin, more than a little apprehensive at the downright evil look in his eyes. This much I was expecting.

Snape doesn’t hesitate, and soon dark curses are speeding across the room, and, though my knowledge was limited to what Moody/Crouch taught us in fourth year of dark magic, I’m learning a few new spells. Many of them don’t have incantations, but I copy the ones that do, dancing out the way of a few nasty ones.

Since Harry was wandless, he couldn’t interject successfully, though there were a few shouts of indignation at some of the spells being used against me. I know that knowing this many dark spells doesn’t _automatically_ make you a dark wizard but come on. He’s used at least fifteen different curses, only a few of which I’ve even heard of.

“How long does this have to go on for?” I grunted in the thick of the fight, reinforcing my shield and searching for the chink in Snape’s own shield. He moved it up and down so quickly it was difficult to get a decent look,

“Until one of us fails, Miss Ellis,” Snape replied, no trace of exhaustion, and in that moment, I hated him for it.

Lights of all colours slew across the room, absorbed by the shields in place just in the nick of time. In any other circumstance, the mixture of lights would have been beautiful, but they are terrifying and dangerous, entirely entrancing, and wholly lethal in their mixture.

Snape’s pride prevents him from stopping the duel early when we can both see it’s not getting anywhere. As his frustration grows, the volume of spells, and their ferocity, grows too. I’m exhausted and taking the shield up and down is becoming more and more difficult, just for the fact that Snape is pulling no punches, and I can barely get an offensive spell in edgeways.

 _Maevey?_ Cassia’s voice rang out in my head, and I froze, for a fraction of a second too long, with my shield down, and I was hit full-force with a dark spell. Fiery pain shot through me, and I collapsed to the floor, my own scream echoing around the room.

***

“Maeve, can you hear me?”

I groaned, blinking my eyes open slowly. Recognising the red-and-gold ceiling of my own quarters, I struggle to sit up, throwing off the blankets suffocating me. I critically eyed the lines of empty vials and bottles, unable to count them in the fuzzy state of my mind.

“Don’t you even think about getting up!” Harry’s worried face came into view, and I wrinkled my eyebrows in confusion.

 _What’s going on? Where’s Cassia?_ I ask, too exhausted to process that I was talking mentally.

“Snape hit you with a blasting curse, and Cassia’s in Gryffindor Tower with Hermione and Ginny,” Harry supplied, and I glared as he tried to prevent me from sitting up. The room was empty other than us, and I rubbed my eyes, trying to expel some of the exhaustion.

Noticing four cups on the table, I asked, “Who else has been here?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Ron, and Malfoy. Malfoy, uh, stormed out when he found out it was Snape who did this to you, and hasn’t been back since. Ron wasn’t sure you’d want to see him.” He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “So, you’re stuck with me.”

I grinned and took his hand. Ron wasn’t necessarily wrong – he owes me an apology (and one for Draco if I can stretch him that far) for his overreaction, but I wouldn’t have thrown him out instantly for just being here and seeing if I was okay.

Draco storming out has two realistic explanations. One: he’s finally decided he can’t deal with me being at such odds with his family and is finally done with us. Two: he is very pissed at Snape and went to yell at him, as perhaps the only student in the school who could get away with that.

“And what is all this shite I’ve taken?” I ask, gesturing to the numerous vials. Harry rolls his eyes at me.

“Only you, Maeve, only you,” he laughs, then sees my serious expression. “Healing potions, something for the dark magic, uh, not sure, probably painkilling potion?” he questions, and I shake my head slowly.

“And I can guess I’m going to have to restock my store?” I asked, and Harry shook his head.

“Snape got you everything; since he is potions master, we thought it best not to argue. And you were kind of passed out on the floor.”

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I reach for the water on the table, and Harry hands it to me.

“I’m not an invalid you know,” I sigh, but even my voice knows how half-hearted that plea is. I can feel the remnants of dark magic in my system and licks of hot pain shoot through me when I move too quickly.

Sitting in comfortable silence, Harry flicks on the record player, and something soft and classical emerges gracefully from the speakers. Watching the fire reminds me of the curse Snape used, and I scan the abandoned schoolwork on the table. I’d guess either Hermione or Draco; that neat writing could never be Harry’s or Ron’s. Definitely not.

“Maevey, yesterday, in the Legilimency session with him, what did you do?”

I take a long gulp from my drink to avoid having to answer Harry’s question. The implicit _to him_ tagged onto the end of the sentence is an accusation if ever I’ve heard one, but the question is surprisingly soft.

“You’re scared,” I state, my usual subtlety lost as I read his emotions. He looks up, surprised, and I know I was right. “Harry, I-I never meant to scare you. I was angry that Snape was doing that to you, and I didn’t think my actions through.”

“Maeve, I’m not looking for an apology; what did you do?”

“I broke through some of his shields, read some of his memories,” I rush out, speaking quickly to the floor. “I knew it would warn him, unnerve him enough to leave you alone and that’s why I did it.”

Harry was silent for a long time, but I still couldn’t bring myself to regret my decision. Snape deserved what he got, and I was careful not to dive too deep. I didn’t do any permanent damage, other than maybe to his pride.

It’s not going to kill him.

Harry was one of those people with exacting morals, though, and this grey area in which I operate isn’t usually aligned with him. I think this is the first instance where he’s seen me do something like this, so obviously “wrong” in his mind, and it must be a shock.

Seeing is believing, I suppose, and seeing the beginnings of the depth of my Legilimency is pretty scary, judging by Harry’s current emotional broadcast. He’s upset and angry, and I do my best to block it out, wait for what he wants to say, but it’s not that simple with emotions.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and I blinked. “Maeve, Snape was way out of line, even for him. I’m not mad at you for protecting me.”

My lips twist into a wry smile, and Harry hugs me gently, just as Draco walks in. The Slytherin makes no comment, but a shot of jealous rips through his aura, until Harry moves away, retaking his seat in the armchair. Draco sits by my side, and I lean my head gently on his shoulder.

“Tell me you didn’t kill him,” I say quietly, and Draco’s shoulders move with a bout of laughter.

“I didn’t kill him; I told him I was joining your practice sessions because I don’t trust him enough not to curse you all,” Draco grinned, and I roll my eyes. Wizarding egos truly know no bounds.

***

Neither Harry nor Draco wanted me to go up to dinner, but I vehemently refused to stay on the sofa unmoving for any longer.

“Snape doesn’t get to win this one,” had been my final argument, and it had apparently worked.

I carefully hid all the markers of dark magic on me, concealing even the more subtle traces of the spell. Seeing magic on people wasn’t a skill that was common among students, but if even one of them wanted to question it, I wouldn’t be able to explain my way out of it easily. Dark magic is easy to recognise.

Surprisingly, I find my own magic not too depleted. Since we spent so much time earlier duelling and sending spells at each other, it’s a little odd to have this much left. Maybe it works like Muggle car batteries. Once they’re up and running, they’re recharge themselves. It would make sense for magic to work like that, like a well almost, that you can just keep digging deeper and deeper into.

Draco headed to the Slytherin table – we didn’t talk about him joining us, and I knew he was glad for that. One scan of the Gryffindor table showed Hermione not to be present in the hall. I sat heavily in my seat, and made the effort to smile for Cassia, who climbed into my lap with worry in her features.

I can’t force Hermione to come to meals; I’m not her keeper, I’m her friend, best friend. This is just putting me at odds with the line between looking after her like a friend, and like a mother. Maybe the lines are a little more blurred for me since I’ve been Cassia’s guardian; I’m hardly qualified to look after her, let alone everyone else.

Food seems unappetising, but I suppose if I need to chat with Hermione about meals, then I can’t really be skipping my own meals. Plus, I’ve got Harry’s full attention, and I force the first few bites, the rest coming naturally in the flow of conversation.

“Where’s ‘Mione?” Harry asked, as pudding appeared, and Ginny sighed.

“In her dorm, reading something for one of her classes, not sure which one at this point,” the Weasley replied, and Luna smiled lightly from across the table. The Ravenclaw regularly joined us at mealtimes, or some of us went and sat with her at the Ravenclaw table.

Since the Head Girl’s announcement, the house tables were mixing more and more. The younger Slytherins were mixing too, but I was yet to see any Slytherin in fifth-year or above sit with any other house. I’ve been encouraging Cassia to mix with different houses, and part of that is at mealtimes we move around. I had lunch at the Hufflepuff table with Hannah and Justin a couple of days ago, and it was an easy-going meal. Hannah adored Cassia, and the other way around too.

In Luna’s usual dreamy tone, she said: “I hope she’s getting enough pudding – the house-elves will be making sure she’s getting food, they always did for me.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed at Luna, but the Ravenclaw didn’t notice the look and started on her own dessert.

“This isn’t like her,” Harry muttered to me, and I unsuccessfully tried to hold back a laugh. He looked sharply at me, and I ran a hand through my hair.

“This is like Hermione recently. She’s been skipping meals since the start of the year,” I say bluntly, and Ron pauses, a hand reached across the table for the stack of cupcakes. “Don’t tell me none of you have noticed?” My amazement at how dense the boys can be will never cease.

She’s one of us, one of the so-called Golden Gryffindor Quartet (that was eleven-year-old Draco’s attempt at pissing us off, but it kind of stuck around), and they just _didn’t notice_ that she’s not been at meals? That doesn’t feel right on any level, but I guess Hermione’s always been one to prioritise studying.

In previous years, though, she always ate something whenever I reminded her.

 _Cassia, do you want to go and see ‘Mione?_ I ask my sister, and she nods vigorously. I conjure a box, stick a few of the cupcakes in it, and stand with Cassia. Harry looks as if he’s about to object on the grounds of my magical injury, but I stare at him, reminding him that the dark magic needs to be a secret. If people found out …

Well, it’s not even worth considering the consequences.

We take the stairs to Gryffindor tower, Cassia already learning to jump the trick step, though it’s difficult at her height to skip one.

I vow to myself as we enter Gryffindor Tower to check up on Hermione more often. _Just add it to the list_ , my mental voice sneers at me, and I shut that thought up instantly.

Checking up on friends isn’t a task, it’s something I’ve always done. Just this year it’s more difficult because I’m further away and have less free time. Sending out mental feelers for where Hermione is hiding, I cringe.

“Cass, baby, will you stay down here for a little while?” I ask, annoyed at how not ideal this is. She doesn’t listen, following me up the stairs, and to my relief, I see Seamus and Dean in their dorm on the way upstairs.

I knock on the door, and rush out the favour I need to ask, and they readily agree, Seamus eyeing me with concern. Without time to stop and explain, I leave Cassia in their capable hands (capable for at least half an hour, I hope) and run off to the girls’ dorm.

The adjacent bathroom (perk of being a NEWT student – no cross-dorm bathrooms like the rest of the lower years share) door is locked.

I rap my knuckles on the door. “Hermione?” I call, hoping there weren’t any silencing charms around it. I can’t see any, but magical sight is not _entirely_ infallible. She doesn’t reply, and if I listen closely, I can hear her heavy breathing inside.

“Hermione, can you let me in, please?” I repeat, and I feel the locking spell lift, but she doesn’t open the door. I push it open, and immediately make a beeline to where Hermione’s sat against the wall, shivering slightly. A wave of my hand cleans up the mess around her, and I pull her into my arms, her body moving with little resistance.

Her shoulders shake, and I summon a blanket, wrapping it around her carefully. She leant into me, and I comforted her as much as I could; other than what I could guess from the piles of sick on the floor, I didn’t want to make any assumptions aloud, in case I was wrong, and I set something off.

A million different possibilities ran through my head, getting more and more unlikely as time ran on. But I refused to push her to speak, just helping her to her feet when she tried to get up of her own accord. When she slumped against me, I took her unnervingly-light body in my arms, carrying her bridal-style from the bathroom and into the dorm, where a concerned Parvati was sat on her bed.

I shook my head when she went to speak, and with a kind smile, the girl stood with her books and left the dorm.

Magically removing all the books from Hermione’s bed, I lay her down, propping pillows under her head. I sit on the edge of her bed, and summon an anti-nausea potion, and something I’ve been working on for Hermione too. The summoning spell is a mixture between summoning and conjuring – like instanteously relocating from one place to another. It’s a useful thing to know.

The potions appear in my hands, and Hermione’s attention snaps to them, eyes a little nervous.

“Just anti-nausea,” I say, holding out the first one, and she takes it with little fight, relief washing over her as the potion’s magic instantly takes hold. When she looks to the second vial, I enclose it in my hand, suddenly feeling foolish.

I’ve tested this out enough – it has been an idea in the works for maybe a year now, and I know it will do nothing bad. But to present it to someone else, it’s unnerving.

Hermione takes my fist in her hand, and pries at my fingers until I give way, and she takes the bottle, holding it up to the light to look at it.

“I don’t recognise it,” she murmurs quietly, the first words she’s said since I arrived.

“I created it; it replenishes all essential nutrients and vitamins a person is missing,” I say, and she almost drops it, and the slight horror in her eyes is unmistakable.

I know I’m completely out of my depth and it scares me. I’m not a magical psychiatrist, nor healer; I’m barely qualified to look after Cassia. And Hermione is so clearly sick. But demanding that she go and see Pomphrey or forcing something else on her right now would be a disaster. I scan the room, specifically around Hermione’s things, and see the traces of where vanishing spells were used. Mostly it’s invisible, but if you can see the magic, it leaves tiny magical breadcrumbs of its previous presence.

Hermione’s things are covered with the marks, and I swallow, turning back to her. She’s been vanishing food. I don’t have a doubt about it now.

“’Mione, please, talk to me,” I persuade gently, taking the vial out her trembling hands.

She fixed her gaze away from me, and internally, I curse her stubbornness. Externally, I wait, knowing she’s bound to break the silence at some point. My eyes stray again, landing on an open journal in the books I moved off her bed, and Hermione’s magic reacts before she does, snapping the book closed. We both jump at the sudden _crack_ of the book shutting.

“I just want to be on the same level as all of you,” Hermione said eventually in a small voice, glaring viciously at her hands. I hook a gentle finger under her chin and guide up her gaze to meet mine, radiating my own concern as I read all the self-inflicted anger in her aura. “You all look perfect, and then I’m just …” she trails off, waving a hand as she can’t finish the sentence.

“Hermione, you’re beautiful,” I say with absolute certainty. “Why would you think you’re less? Who do you mean by ‘all of you’?”

She shuffles uncomfortably under my gaze, but I hold it, and she bites down on her lip.

“You, Ginny, Luna, Lav, Romilda, Parvati, oh Godric, even Ron and Harry. You’re all perfect,” she manages, and as I suppress my sigh, I magically ward the door, only to let Ginny in. If there were to be anyone else who might be able to help, it would be Ginny. “You all eat like there’s no tomorrow, and never have any consequences – I eat one meal and I’m bloated beyond belief. It’s ugly,” she said, distaste wrinkling her nose at even the concept.

“’Mione, that isn’t true. No-one’s perfect, and there isn’t a person alive, wizard or muggle, who likes every single thing about themselves. Yes, maybe the Weasleys all have hollow legs and could eat for England, but the rest of us? I mean, my weight fluctuates like there’s no tomorrow, and I exercise to keep it stable. But you can’t just quit eating, yeah?”

“Why not?” she shoots back, angrily. “It’s working.”

“Working to do what?” I reply softly. “Weaken your magic? Make you feel sick? Make you obsess over the smallest bits of food?”

Each question is gently spoken, but it knocks away at Hermione’s shell. Tears fill her eyes.

“I just want to be pretty.” Once the first tears spill over, everything comes flooding out. She collapses into my arms, and my insides clench at how much this is killing her inside. With her body pressed against me, I can feel her shoulder blade through the blanket tossed around them, and it’s jarringly sharp.

“Hermione, you are pretty. You’re amazing. Smart, brave, kind, loving. None of us define you by your physical appearance, I promise you,” I murmur softly into her hair as she sobs into my shirt. “No one is perfect,” I add, and she clings tighter to me. “But this is going to hurt you, ‘Mione. And I don’t know what any of us would do without you. We need our ‘Mione. Always.”

When her shaking ceases, she looks to me with a newfound determination. Holding out her hand, palm-up, a hint of a smile plays at my lips as I deposit the vial. She surveys it again, and with her quick-thinking brain, asks of the ingredients.

“I’ll tell you everything about it if you drink it,” I bargain, and her lips tip lightly upwards. Unstoppering the bottle with her wand, she drinks it in two sips, and I smile.

“That was really brave, ‘Mione, I’m proud of you,” I say, gently prising the vial out of her fingers before it shattered. On a single thought, I dry the tear stains on my shirt.

“I’m always here when you want to talk; I don’t care if you drag me out of a classroom by my ear,” I say with a serious enough look that Hermione attempts to smother the giggle at the mental image of herself _leaving a classroom_ before a class is over. It’s an impossible image to come up with.

She takes my hand. “Thank you, Maevey. I miss you, you know? You’re living down in the dungeons and it’s … well, it’s weird,” Hermione struggles for the words, and I nod. “But I know you have a lot of responsibilities-”

I shush her as soon as I see where the sentence is going. “My friends, and Cassia, are my top priorities. Sod the NEWTs,” I say, winking at her as she looks mildly outraged. “I’m kidding about NEWTs, but seriously, you guys are more important than any exams.”

Hermione makes a little appreciative noise, and then embarrassment shuts her down. I grin at her, taking her hand.

“You should probably get some sleep,” I add, as I take in her slumping posture, dark circles under her eyes and yawns. She agrees sleepily, and I pull the covers up over her and press a kiss to her hair. “Come and see me tomorrow morning, yeah?” I ask, and she agrees again.

I hover in the doorway, putting a few simple privacy charms up around her, and tidying up the scattered books and neatly stacking them on the bedside table. When I’m certain she’s going to sleep through, I take down all my warding and head down to the common room where I can hear many of the sixth-years voices.

Steeling myself and reminding myself not to tell everyone about what’s going on with her in too much detail, I turn the final corner on the stairs, and head for my year-mates.

Seamus is the first to notice me here, and calls me over, bringing everyone else’s attention to me.

“Maeve, what’s going on?” Neville asked, when the others were too hesitant as I took a seat next to Harry.

“Hermione is just in a rough patch; she’ll be fine,” I explain, glancing around at the group.

“No offense, Maeve, but we meant you,” Seamus said with a tilt of his head. When I squint in confusion at him, he holds up his hands. “You’re doing a lot at once; you’re seriously not burning out?”

“I’m not doing that much,” I protest, and I know it’s a weak argument. Between them, they groan.

“So not that much includes, Quidditch, eight NEWTs-” Seamus started.

“Looking after a younger sister…”

“Helping run the DA…”

“Detentions on a regular basis…”

“Bonus projects,” I add with a cheeky smile, and they all roll their eyes. Mutters of _of course_ and _bloody typical_ rise up among them, and I grin.

 _Secret legilimency meetings. Secret duelling practices. Brewing healing potions. Researching how to become Animagi. Training Cassia in Legilimency. Secret boyfriend._ I add mentally to the list they came up with, and when I think about it clearly, I know it is a lot for one person to handle. Maybe I should ask McGonagall if she can get me a Time-Turner. I mean, if Hermione had one in third year then surely, I could have one in sixth year.

Briefly I wonder if there’s an illegal Time-Turner somewhere in Walters Manor. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest. At this point, who knows what’s stored there? I make up my mind to try going to the Manor at Christmas, mostly because I need some of the Legilimency books for Cassia’s training, but also that I have no idea what could be there, and I’ve offered it as a place for Draco to stay.

I should make sure there’s not something there that might kill him.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> \- Caity B xx


	24. Hiding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: smut, scars, eating disorder

When I make my way back from Gryffindor Tower in the evening, Draco calls out to my mind, angry at my exertion with so much dark magic still in my system.

 _Draco, I’m fine. This was more important_. I shut him down completely, and when he goes to argue with me again, I tell him to meet me in my room, and close off the connection. I resist the temptation to monitor him from a distance, since he can’t do the same to me, and return my attention to Cassia.

Doing my best not to outright lie to her, since she likely would be able to tell if I was, I explain why I needed to see Hermione alone, and Cassia accepts my explanation of her being ill. She’s definitely getting tired, and I hoist her into my arms by the time we’re in the dungeons as she clings to my hands, walking into me every few seconds. In the past couple of months, she’s grown a lot, and I know at some point in the near future, I’m not going to be able to carry her.

Having Cassia in my arms always reinforces the fact that I’m her guardian to me; she’s my little sister, yes, but she’s my responsibility. The physical connection keeps it real, and in the front of my mind. Obviously, it’s not like I’m going to ignore her later on, when I can’t hold her, but I need all the connections to her I can get.

The mental connection we have is permanent enough, though as soon as she’s at her full power, and control, she should be able to control it too, meaning she could shut me out. I try not to think about that.

This evening, as she’s still awake when we reach our quarters, we go through her night routine without magic, brushing her teeth and her hair, and Cassia chooses her own pyjamas, dressing herself, and I smile slightly, resisting the urge to point out her top is on backwards.

Cassia insists on stories until she falls asleep, and I read her some of the Muggle ones, prodding the images to move. She falls asleep after a few stories, and I push happy dreams to the front of her mind, persuading them to take hold over the nightmares brewing under the surface.

As I sneak out of her room, I adjust the wards to let Draco in, and settle in the common room with my Magical Creatures textbook.

“Maeve Anne W- Ellis!” Draco shouted as he walked through the portrait-hole into my quarters a little while later, cutting off his own words. “I can’t believe you just shut me out.”

He took his time to get here, though from the state of his hair, I’d have to guess he was at Slytherin Quidditch practice. Their first match is soon – Slytherin against Hufflepuff on the first weekend of December – and the teams are getting in as much practice as they can. Gryffindor doesn’t have another match until the new year, but that doesn’t mean Harry is slacking off on our practices.

“You were going to lecture me on my decisions since lunchtime, all of which I stand by. Draco, I’m fine; you don’t need to worry so much,” I say, and he takes the book out of my hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.

“Maeve, I worry because you give me reason to. Shutting me out makes me think you’re hiding something,” he explains slowly, and I roll my eyes.

“You’re the one who distrusts Legilimency, not me. _I_ have perfect control over my Legilimency. You were broadcasting a lot more than I thought you were intending to, so I closed the connection down before you thought anything you didn’t want me to hear,” I shoot back, and he’s momentarily stunned, and I sigh.

I hadn’t thought he would have realised that he was broadcasting more than he thought, but I hoped he had noticed. I’m just not that lucky.

“Maeve, you were hit with a Blasting Curse, of course I’m going to be concerned to the point of not thinking straight,” he retaliates, and I stand abruptly off the sofa.

“You not thinking straight doesn’t mean I need to hear it all.” I pace up and down the strip of floor between the table and the fire, the turns becoming more and more abrupt. “I’m trying to figure out where your line is with Legilimency, and you’re not making it very easy. I’m never going to just stop using it, it’s the only thing of my family I have left, and us fighting about it all the time is really bloody difficult. This is part of who I am, Draco, moreso than almost anything else. I am a Walters. I am a Legilimens. I am Cassia’s big sister and guardian. And I don’t know what else I can try to get you to accept that.”

Draco looked guilty at his hands. I forcibly stopped the words I wanted to let spill out of my mouth. Even though I’ve probably already just done irreparable damage, I don’t want to make it worse. At my agitation, I can feel the dark magic blossoming back out and breaking through my disguises, but I ignore it.

Even though it was dark magic, it shouldn’t be affecting me this badly, still, with all those potions Snape gave me. Maybe they were dummy potions and he’s just that much of a bastard. Or maybe it’s something more than that.

“Maeve, I’m not asking you to change. I just …” he trailed off, and I turned to him sharply, willing him to finish the sentence. He shakes his head.

“You don’t trust me?” I ask him in a small voice.

“Merlin, of course I trust you, Maeve. I’m just completely out of my depth with all the Legilimency and I don’t know how to learn,” Draco snapped at me, and I blinked. Anything I had expected – it was not that.

“I’ll teach you,” I say with a smile creeping its way onto my face. “Why didn’t you just say?” I leant back against the stone wall and watched Draco carefully. A blank look came over his face as he processed his thoughts, and then a hint of a smile crossed into his mouth.

“How do you always surprise me?” Draco asked, more towards himself than to me, as he stood up and took one of my hands. “So many secret talents,” he grinned, and kissed me.

There’s a lot of turbulence between us; I’m beginning to think there always will be. As he kissed me, the tension evaporated, and I melted into the intimacy. When he pulled back for air, I sighed contentedly.

“You know, you’re not that bad at Legilimency,” I say conversationally, and he raises his eyebrows at me. “What? Just because I can see through shields, doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate that they’re there,” I add defensively, and Draco bursts out laughing.

“Oh, Maeve, you truly are something else,” he laughs, and I shut him up with another kiss. Weaving my fingers in his hair, he flattens me against the wall, bodies pressed roughly together. He was warm against me, toned body pressed flush against my own.

Draco’s hands took to the buttons on my shirt, popping open the top three and running his hands lightly over the small expanse of skin showing. He gently unknotted my tie and cast it aside, fingertips brushing my hair out of the way. I tugged on the hem of his jumper, and he lifted his arms wordlessly, allowing me to remove it and reveal the Quidditch shirt underneath.

“Was someone in a rush?” I ask teasingly, removing the green shirt with wandless magic.

Draco rolled his eyes, though his emotions were less impatient than he was acting; he wanted to draw this out, even if he wouldn’t say it aloud.

“Someone had a hand in that rushing,” he murmurs into my lips, and brought his hand up to cup my face. His hands were much softer than I expected, despite the fact we’ve done this before. His wand hand has a slight callous to it, but the skin is delicate. I lean into the touch, the kiss unhurried and gentle, so much unlike the usual fiery passion, but still erotic and sensual in its own right.

Draco’s hands, despite being in control of this, shook slightly around me, as he explored every inch of my exposed skin with his fingers, his lips. I run my own hands over his exposed torso, mapping the curves and dips of his abs, the callouses and marks on his back I hadn’t noticed before.

My fingers find a long, jagged mark, and Draco freezes, backing off me.

“I’m sorry,” I say instantly, and he forces a smile that doesn’t fit with the tension in his body. Sparks and flashes of memories fly around his mind, and I block them out from my own sight. I haven’t lost control of my legilimency like that for a long time; it takes intense emotions to overcome my personal shielding to stop me seeing everything day-to-day. Draco didn’t notice his sharing, and in his shirtless state, I could see the tension rippling across his muscles at the effort to stay still, remain as normal as he could.

With a slow gulp at my sudden decision, I remove the permanent glamour hiding my own scars, and turn my palm up, so he can see the long, rough scar stretching diagonally across my palm. Draco looks at it, then to my face, reading the warmth and trust in my soft expression. He turns around, the muscles tensing up as I rest my hands lightly on his shoulders.

Draco’s scar runs along the small of his back, jagged in a way only a magical wound can be, and I press a kiss against his neck. That relaxes his tension, and I move so I’m in front of him, taking his hand and leading him upstairs.

“I love you, Draco,” I say as we enter my room, and he pulls me into him, kissing me for all we’re worth. Pure love radiates between us as I open up our connection, and Draco smiles into our kissing lips. Gratitude and lust pour onto my lips, and when Draco goes to undo the rest of my buttons, my fingers find the curving muscles of his back, rising and falling with his breathing, very deliberately avoiding the bumpy skin of the scar.

My shirt is discarded on the floor, and Draco’s eyes scan me critically. Since I dropped the glamour, everything is visible. All my scars.

“Salazar, Maevey, what else have you been hiding?” he asks quietly as he runs his fingertips lightly over the neat, orderly marks marring my hips and up my sides.

I shake my head, unable to form a better answer, and my fingers tremble finely as I reach up to touch his face.

“No one’s seen me like this since-since my parents – the attack,” I whisper faintly, and the exposure wracks nerves through me. “The glamour is a spell I keep up all the time, it’s easy for it to fade into the background. It was a part of my cover, my new identity.”

At a glance in the mirror, my arms self-consciously cave in on myself, and sickness washes over me at the vulnerability and exposure around me. I’m not supposed to be sick, to be weak or vulnerable as Maeve Ellis, nor as Maeve Walters. Draco curls his hand around my folded arms, and tugs gently at them until I give in.

“Maevey, that was brave; thank you for sharing that with me,” he says softly, and pulls me into his arms, hugging me tightly. No tears fall from my eyes, but our closeness reassures me, the previous argument fading away into nothingness.

When I lift my chin off his shoulder, I seal his lips in a soft kiss. Draco pulls back slightly and has that look on his face that’s screaming he has something he wants to say but needs to work up to it.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I unlace my shoes, giving Draco my best encouraging smile. He stands in front of me, taking my hands and guiding them around to the jagged scar across my back.

“It was my Aunt Bella’s curse, not intended for me, but it hit me none-the-less. Mother didn’t talk to her for weeks and weeks,” Draco explained, and I rest my hands on his hips. “It scarred so badly because it was a magical wound,” he added, and gave me a weak smile.

Nodding to the spot next to me, Draco sits down. “I can teach you the glamour spell, if you’d like.”

He shakes his head. “No point; the Slytherins who would see me shirtless already know it’s there. I’m not hiding from anyone.”

I sigh, my wand twitching between my fingers. The veiled, and probably unintentional insult hits me; I know I’m hiding, and hiding is a coward’s game, at least by my family’s usual standards. But, at age eleven in the Ministry of Magic, I didn’t really have any legs to stand on to keep my own identity.

I haven’t taken this glamour off for six years, almost. The jagged red slash across my palm captures my attention fully and I run the point of my wand over the mark. When I realise how closely Draco is watching me, I close my palm and let it fall, closed onto the bed beside me.

“You don’t have to explain,” Draco reminds me softly, and I nod a little.

“Can I – do you mind if I put the glamour back?” I ask quietly, and he leans in to kiss me. His lips are soft and warm and dripping with love. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but if Cassia – I mean, she’s not seen me like this – I don’t want to scare her,” I stumble over my words as I pull back a little, and Draco smiles.

“Yeah, go for it, Maevey,” he says encouragingly, and I head across the room to the pile of books. Pulling out a blank sheet of parchment from between the pages of one of my magical childcare books, I summon the knife from my potions supplies, and cut the tip of my finger, allowing a single spot of blood to hit the page. Ink materialises out of nowhere, and I breathe deeply as I read through the instructions for the spell.

Draco watches me carefully as I rifle through my potions stock and retrieve a black marker pen (they work much better than normal ink, and mixing muggle inventions and magic has turned out well so far) and uncap it. On the unmarked skin of my stomach, I draw the sequence of runes, looking carefully in the mirror. Hiding runes, runes of protection and concealment. It’s a little more than convoluted and is supposed to be secret. I think it was a Walters creation, or at least, they stole it and made it their own.

When the last symbol is drawn, I glance up at Draco, who’s looking on at the scene with an analytical eye. I turn back to the mirror, breathing deeply. The last time I did this was years and years ago – all the way back in first year. My glamour failed when we were trying to retrieve the Philosopher’s Stone, whatever magic surrounded that place messed with my own magic.

I inhale slowly, and let my concealment flood my mind, softly mouthing the incantations. My wand zooms into my hand of its own accord, trying to help channel the magic. The runes glow a bright white, bright enough that I have to look away from their reflection, and I catch Draco’s eye. He’s transfixed by the glowing runes and stares intensely at them.

One by one, the runes fade and disappear, each of them taking scars away with them too. When the final mark fades away with the scar on my palm, I slump my shoulders slightly, breathing in relief as I’m back to my normal look.

Draco is slightly spellbound, staring directly at me, or more specifically where the scars were visible only a few minutes ago. I walk over to him and place my palm in his upturned hands.

“You can still feel it,” I murmur, guiding his fingers across the invisible scar and Draco flinched slightly at the sensation of feeling something that he couldn't see. I draw my hand away, and he clasps it gently.

“Sorry, I just didn't expect to …” he trailed off, and I smile gently at him.

“I know, it’s a little strange,” I admit, and Draco raises a brow. “It’s useful for me, and I just don't hold people’s hands, so they don't notice the unevenness.”

Draco grinned at me, and I climbed up from kneeling on the floor and climb into his lap. When I meet his lips, it’s slow and sensual and filled with much more patience than I’ve ever known him to possess. I shift my hips in his lap, settling myself in a better position and swallow Draco’s groans.

His fingers intertwine in my hair and pull gently to one side, opening up the access to my neck. I tilt my head into the motion, and he lays gentle kisses down my jaw, my neck, my collar. I run my hands along the curve of his shoulders, captivated by the firmness of the muscle there.

“Mine,” he whispers into my skin, and my throat bobs at the awe in his voice, and I reclaim his mouth, kissing him heavily. My fingers reach for his belt, and with half a thought, I remove his shoes with a bit of magic.

Casual magic like this was one of the “pureblood” things I could never quite let go of. It’s just so instinctive that it was never really a question to me. It’s also not impossible to explain away – it is normal magic and my muggleborn persona still has magic – but it’s just more likely that muggleborns do everyday things without magic.

The tone of the slow passion continued as we removed each other’s clothes, discovering all that we had missed in our previous clothing-free encounters. When we’re both just in underwear, and we’ve explored every inch of the exposed skin, Draco’s own arousal is visible through the thin fabric, and heat is gently pooling in the bottom of my stomach.

My fingers find the edges of his waistband, and I push him back so he’s lying on my bed. Trailing kisses down his abdomen, I allow my lips to ghost over his erection, and he groans loudly. The raw noise fuels my arousal, and I vanish his underwear, and my own, Draco’s cock standing to attention, unrestrained by the fabric.

Leaning up to kiss his lips, my wet sex caresses his leaking cock, and we both moan into each other’s mouths. Draco takes me gently in his arms, and turns us over, lining himself up at my entrance. Meeting my eyes, his lips capture mine as he slides into me slowly, until he’s buried deep inside me.

He moves at a languid pace, thrusts becoming sloppier as we both near the end, and he cries out as he spills inside me, triggering my own release. We ride out our pleasure together, and Draco slumps down on the bed next to me.

“I love you, Maeve,” he whispered in a bliss-filled haze.

“And I love you,” I respond, kissing him softly. Comfortable silence falls, but neither of us drift to sleep. “The dark magic is gone,” I say hesitantly, as I probe into myself, checking the injuries.

“Good,” he murmurs back, and I lean my head back on the pillow, turning to face him. “You had me worried earlier,” he continued, “but I guess that’s what I signed up for with a Walters.”

I pushed him lightly at his mocking tone, and he caught my hand, pulling me into his chest. I pull the blankets around us, and we fall asleep together, the steady rhythm of Draco’s breathing lulling me into a nightmare-free night.

***

Hermione showed up in my room before breakfast, before Draco and I were even out of bed. Cassia had come and woken us up already, and even in my exhausted state, I had the sense to conjure clothes for the both of us, as my little sister bounded onto my bed.

Draco had fallen back to sleep as I shuffled out of bed to meet Hermione in the common room, wanting to uphold my promise of explaining the potion she took last night. It’s pretty early, but not entirely unreasonably so for Hermione.

I’m sure she was overthinking it a while before she showed up at my door.

“Morning,” I greeted as I entered the common room, flicking on the kettle as I rifled through the piles of notes and research for the stack on the nutrition potion. I’d like to say my research was thorough, but if something exists similar to this already, it's entirely possible I just don't know about it yet.

Besides, I’m not looking to make any money on this - it's just something I worked on to help Hermione, and then maybe give to Madam Pomphrey to do something with for some of her patients, or maybe with one of her connections in magical medicine. It’s not like with being the heir to the Walters fortune is leaving me short of assets.

When I turn to look at her, there’s a fine tremor about her aura, and an unsteadiness in her walk. I catch her by the elbow, and she shoots me a grateful glance.

“Do you want to talk some more?” I ask gently, and she shakes her head, taking the notes out of my outstretched hand.

She peppers me with questions about my methods, and my testing, where my notes become illegible, or just lacking in the detail department. Things like _how long did you test for, at what repetition intervals,_ and _with what kind of additional sustenance did you have during the trials._

All of the questions I can answer, and Hermione adjusts my notes as I talk to make them more thorough.

“You know this could be your extra project for Potions?” she says as we get to the end of my report. “I mean, I’ve never heard of anything like this, and I did loads of reading over the summer for potions.”

I shoot her a wry smile as I shake my head. “This wasn’t for academics; this was for you, ‘Mione.”

My notes slip out of Hermione’s hands. I take in her expression but can’t quite understand the emotion behind.

“Maeve, you can’t keep this to yourself; it could help so many people,” she protests, and I laugh.

“I want to give it to Pomphrey soon, once I’ve got it properly reported and written up. I don’t need my name to it, or a column in the Prophet about the invention. Besides, for it to be approved by the Potions Guild, I need a Potions Master, and we all know how much Snape hates me, and would never approve of anything I create.” Hermione’s expression softens, and Cassia comes bounding down the stairs.

“I’d love if I could get it approved, with my name to it,” I admit, “but I’m not ready for Snape to refuse me and have that much power on my career.”

Cassia bounces into Hermione’s arms, and the Gryffindor lets out a strangled sound, and Cassia quickly climbs off, worry casting over her eyes.

“I’m okay, Cassia, don’t worry about it,” Hermione assures, and I summon another vial of the potion from the shelf in my room as Cassia brings out her trampoline from its place against the wall.

She takes the vial in shaking fingers, looking at it and a kind of fear starts filling her aura. I wrap my hand around hers, stilling her hand.

“It’ll get easier over time,” I promise, and Hermione manages a weak smile. The pause stretching between us grows and grows, until I’m not sure she’ll drink it. Footsteps start on the stairs as she’s unstoppering the lid, and she downs the bottle just as Draco comes into view.

She drops the glass tube in surprise, and Draco surveys the scene with curiosity.

 _Not a word_ , I warn Draco mentally, and he’s uneasy but doesn’t argue with my no-nonsense tone. Hermione makes an excuse to leave as soon as she can, promising to go to breakfast with Harry and Ron as I send Draco upstairs with Cassia.

“What do you want me to tell him?” I ask quietly, aware he might be waiting on the stairs for her to leave. Panic crosses her eyes.

“Not the truth, anything else, I don’t care what. Just not the truth,” she begs, and I agree with a silent curse at myself. I’ve just got to the point where I’m not lying to him, and now I’m right back in the thick of that. This time, though, it’s not about family. And I don’t know what I’m going to say.

 _Maevey, what’s going on?_ Draco asks me mentally, and I sit down, waving my hand to clean up the room.

 _Hermione’s just helping me trial a potion, no big deal,_ I reply tiredly, throwing my notes back on the pile, heading up to my room to check on my remaining stock of the potion. There’s not as much left as I would like; I’m going to need to start on the next batch soon if it’s something Hermione is going to rely on to help her recover.

“What potion?” Draco asks interestedly as he comes into my room, glancing up at the shelf.

“Just a nutritional one; it was an idea that wouldn’t leave me alone until I started working on it.” All honest truths, but I’m tiptoeing around the main issue at hand. “Anyway, I’ve trialled it on myself, and it worked perfectly, but I want another test subject before I even consider taking my work to anyone.”

He drops the subject as I kiss him, easily distracted, but my own mind is running at a hundred miles an hour. Despite my own initiation, I can’t seem to melt into the intimacy in the usual way, and Draco pulls away from me, clearly reading that something was wrong.

I lock it away with an easy, tired smile, blaming the fatigue, and at that moment, Cassia bounds into the room, stealing my attention as she demands a bath, leaving Draco no time to ask the questions I can see burning at the front of his mind.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To all who are still here: Thank you, and I'll try and get the next chapter finished a little sooner :)
> 
> \- Caity B xx


	25. Public

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: smut, language :)

A distinctly Christmassy air overtook the castle as December broke, and the topic of the upcoming Quidditch match surged into the hall each morning at breakfast. Slytherin against Hufflepuff was usually one of the less dramatic matches – there was less interhouse tension when Hufflepuff was involved, but being the last match before the holidays, everyone had a slightly stronger sense of house spirit than usual.

Decorations were worming their way around the castle, starting with the Great Hall, though in a much more subdued way than was sure to appear once the end of term hit. Some of the professors were talking about homework they would set over Christmas, and others were using it as a threat to keep their classes focussed during lessons.

Time was flying at Hogwarts, and soon it would be the Christmas holidays, when I will officially become a part of the Order. I glossed over my birthday with ease; I’m pretty sure Draco didn’t know it was my birthday, until the day, and that suited me perfectly. Birthdays at Walters Manor were a big deal, but I couldn’t bring myself to celebrate in too much depth without my family. Everyone else, though, seemed to have other ideas.

_///Flashback_ \\\\\

Early in the morning of the 29th of November, my birthday, one of the mornings where neither Draco nor I had Quidditch practice, Harry, Ron and Hermione all showed up in my quarters. Draco’s brows furrowed in confusion as I sighed at the ring illuminating their names; it was far too early for anyone to be showing up here. 

“Happy seventeenth, Maeve!” Harry announced as he walked into the room, and Draco instantly turned to me, ignoring the presence of the less-than-welcoming Weasley, who finally seemed to be turning a corner with his dislike of my relationship in person, though he hadn’t actually said anything concrete yet.

“You didn’t tell me,” he accuses, and Hermione just laughs as she flops into her usual armchair. Since she’s been taking the Nutrition Potion every day and is working her way at getting back to eating proper meals, she’s made herself her own spot in my common room, and is here every day. When she isn’t, for one reason or another, I have a small stash of the potion in my school satchel for whenever I need to give it to her somewhere that isn’t my bedroom. We had a set-back last weekend, and there were some smashed potions in Hermione’s anger, and mess on the floors, but other than the slight melt-down (that I expected to happen sooner or later) she’s getting much better. Physically, her eyes are brighter, and generally her figure is less fragile, under all those layers of robes and underclothes to keep the biting winter cold away without the hassle of Warming Charms.

“Maevey hates her birthdays, but since she’s now officially an adult in the wizarding world, this dislike gets overridden. Besides, we bought you something,” she adds, formerly in explanation to Draco, and the latter directly to me and I stare at her unflinchingly.

“Guys, this is no different to any other birthday; we’ve talked about this,” I sigh, dropping my book onto the table as they all refuse to let up. I’ve tried each year to not make anything out of my birthday; the only year that’s been successful was my first year, when my birthday passed before I was truly friends with any of them. Trying to see the light of it, for Cassia’s sake, as she’s ditched her own colouring stuff to watch us from Ron’s arms. I don’t think I mentioned the birthday to her either, though I have every intention of celebrating her birthday when it rolls around on December 30th. Just because I’m tarnished with a dislike of the celebration, doesn’t mean I want to pass that onto my sister.

Draco’s watching me carefully as I approach the wrapped gift on the low table in front of the fire. I know what’s traditional for a coming-of-age gift for wizards, and I’m apprehensive to receive one from my friends.

I dreamt last night of my family, and the last birthday I had with them; Mother had made me a promise to give me one of the family watches when I turned of age. And now they’re all gone, and I have no idea if any of those watches even still exist.

 _I will not cry,_ I promise myself as I reach for it, tearing the wrappings neatly off. Ron shushes Cassia, stroking her hair, as she starts to get fidgety.

The face of the golden watch gleams at me, and I swallow a lump in my throat at the memories flooding me.

“Thank you, it’s amazing,” I murmur, lifting it out of the box to examine it in more detail. It’s clearly new, and I wince at the thought of the cost. Harry catches the look, and rolls his eyes, reading my thoughts perfectly.

The cool metal under my touch is engraved, M.A.W, and I nearly drop it in surprise. Putting my actual initials, on something as innocent as a watch, is a risk, and I don’t know how to feel about it.

“Only you can see the initials as the correct ones; to anyone else, it’s M.A.E,” Hermione puts in gently, and I feel the tears shine in my eyes. I refuse to let them fall, and I promise to meet them at breakfast. Cassia heads off, her small hand in Ron’s.

Draco rounds on me once they all leave, and I drop the watch back into the cushioned box, unable to look at it for any longer. He catches my arm as I make way to go upstairs and scans me with worried eyes.

“There’s something else to it, isn’t there? That those three don’t know?” he guesses, and I bite my lip, nodding slightly.

“Birthdays were a big deal to the Walters, and Mother always promised me a family watch on my seventeenth. I don’t want to celebrate without my family,” I say, bluntness seeping into my voice, and Draco squeezes my fingers lightly. “Sorry for not telling you,” I mutter, staring at the floor.

He shakes his head. “Maevey, I don’t care if you didn’t tell me for whatever reason; I just want you to be okay, and not have to hide from me, or your friends.” I practically flung myself into his arms at the words, the futile attempt not to cry finally failing, and tears streamed down my face and pooled on the shoulder of his shirt.

Murmuring comforts, he rubbed slow circles on my back, and sways us slightly on the spot in a smooth rhythm.

 _This is why I love him_ , I think vaguely as he doesn’t rush my emotions, allowing me all the time I need. It’s so intimate, so natural. If there’s one person I had to share my birthday with, I think I would want it to be him.

/// _End Flashback_ \\\\\

I tried not to lose myself completely in the Quidditch talk at mealtimes, making the effort to include Hermione in conversations, and divert the attention onto different subject matters.

The Slytherins were getting further integrated into different houses, but the older years, fifth year and above mostly, were adamantly refusing to mix. But, with the match so soon, the houses involved were keeping to themselves, the teams in particular, were all huddled on their own tables, talking quietly together.

By Saturday morning, Draco was getting nervous as we lay in bed after Cassia’s rude awakening. He wasn’t in the mood for anything resembling power-playing, but in an effort to help him relax, I dealt with his morning wood in the shower, something we hadn’t done as of yet. Shower for muggle sex must be impractical, as I had put a fair few charms in place to stop anything unplanned happening. Like slipping on the floor and cracking my head on the tiles. The awkward lubrication water gives sometimes turned into the perfect consistency.

He melted under my touch, body complying before his mind truly caught up. His downright erotic noises turned me on, but I ignored my own needs, focussing on my lips around his cock, and my pleasurable ministrations.

He came quickly, faster than usual, though he didn’t get the embarrassment flooding into his aura when he finished before he meant to, like he had done the previous week. Instead, he let me wash his hair and his body, returning the favour to me after he recovered from his orgasm.

After we dressed, Draco in the underlayers of his Quidditch robes, and me in some of my more wintery robes, he turned to me, apprehension in his eyes.

“Draco, love, what’s wrong?” I ask, wordlessly taking his hands and running a soft warming charm through our connected hands in a reassuring way.

“I don’t want us to be a secret for much longer – I can’t keep fending off my friends with shit excuses for much longer before they figure out the truth. And I would rather they hear it from me.”

His tone is blunt, much more emotionless than I expected, and I can’t help but baulk slightly at it. His face softens, and I force a smile. My friends know, it’s only fair that his do too.

“Of course; how do you want to do this?” I ask softly, expecting the Malfoy to already have a plan in place, but he shrugs. It frustrates me a little, until I recall the circumstances of Harry and Ron finding out, and find that I have no cards to play in objecting to whatever Draco decides to do or say.

“I can’t be a Pureblood for them. I’m Maeve Ellis,” I remind him, and he nods in recognition. I’m sure he hadn’t forgotten that, but it’s usually best to bring it to the front of people’s mind as they’re doing something that could potentially expose me. Cassia’s safety, and all that attached drama.

As I’m climbing into the Quidditch stands to watch the match, I send Draco a mental kiss, and a good luck, before quietening our connection. The last thing I want is for him to be distracted during the match, and mess up in front of the whole school. His team would never let him live down a mistake, and I’m sure it would royally piss him off too.

Cassia’s having a restless morning, and I haven’t really prepared for it. She barely ate at breakfast, and I was smart enough to bring her out a few snacks in my satchel, but, depending on the length of the match, we may end up long gone before she’s hungry again. Leaving the stands part-way through the match would kill Draco to know, and I have to dismiss the idea entirely to stop it taking over my mind. If Cassia needs me to leave, then I will. It’s that simple.

I bounce Cassia on my knee, letting her mentally show me what she wants to, to keep her happy. She shows me image after image – things that she’s intentionally gleaned from other people’s minds, and I’m torn between proud and concerned. Aunt Hannah would never have been able to teach Cassia Legilimency, but I’m not exactly doing a bang-up job of it either, if I’ve not mentioned about invading privacy.

At the same time, I remember the time where I couldn’t control my Legilimency properly, and I don’t have the heart to be mad at her. Over the Christmas break, I’m going to go to Walters Manor, and get the books I need to help her in the best way possible.

When the match begins, I try and dissuade Cassia from taking over my whole mind, but she finds herself easily bored, and I wish, silently cursing myself afterwards for the thought, that I’d left Cassia with Hermione when she had made that offer at breakfast.

 _No, you need more time with her; Hermione’s not your babysitter,_ I chide myself, and Cassia fidgets uncomfortably as the crowd screams. Slytherin’s first score.

She’s more than just uncomfortable by the third goal (all to Slytherin), and has resorted to burying her face in my robes. When I hear the quiet tears, I stand abruptly and leave, cradling my sister in my arms. I don’t know how she got through the first match – maybe because I was playing? Maybe Fred and George had something to do with it.

I cast a _muffliato_ around us, and she seems to calm at the lack of noise penetrating our little bubble. Rocking her as I walk around the grass beyond the pitch, I start humming the lullaby song from her mobile, and I share some positive memories of Quidditch matches and flying with her, hoping to soothe what was quickly becoming a phobia.

She didn’t instantly reject the memories, and the calming tune is soon filling her own mind, reassuring her and the last of her tears dry up.

I loosen the sound-proof barrier around myself, and check up mentally with Harry on the progress of the match. The Slytherins are winning, thirty to twenty, but Hufflepuff are blocking a lot of the Slytherin chasers’ moves.

Cassia insists on being let down, and I cast her portable shield, wary of any bludgers leaving the pitch. Bludgers have crashed through the stands before – it’s not unreasonable to expect them out here too. I’d like to think I would be quick enough with my own spell in the moment, but with Cassia’s health in the balance, it’s not something I want to gamble on. When I ask her about returning to the stands, it’s a firm no. One that I expected entirely, but I would like to see my boyfriend play Quidditch with his team.

I shove away the match we will have to play against each other as Cassia distracts me with more of other people’s memories.

 _Cassia, baby, you can’t just look into people’s mind whenever you want to_ , I remind her, and she looks up at me with curious eyes, begging to know how. Begrudging to get into the details of it now, I start with the basics, right at the beginning of what I remember my own training and practice to be, the first lesson in how to turn the Legilimency on and off at will.

She scrunches up her little face in concentration as I try and explain how to shut all the mental noise out, the sounds of the Quidditch score floating in over our heads. Forty-twenty to Slytherin now, but a penalty against the winning team. Slytherin were always ones for penalties.

I peek into Cassia’s mind as she’s concentrating, but nothing has changed. Shutting out the noise is difficult at the best of times, let alone when we’re surrounded by so many people; nearly the whole school is within the Quidditch pitch, and I know we both have sufficient range to hear across the whole pitch.

Cassia’s proved that to me before.

 _Pretend it’s just me here, just me and you, alone in a field,_ I encourage, since she’s so good at mental imaging for her age. I know I can’t interfere too far, but I have no real idea, without any of my family journals, how resilient children are to outsider influence mentally. So, for now, I have to err on the side of caution, in case I do something to cause irreparable damage.

That helps clear some of the background thrum from Cassia’s mind, but the closest people to us in the stands are loud and clear, all the voices piled on top of each other. It’s deafening – I’d forgotten what it was like for everything to be unfiltered. Though my training was somewhat _cut off_ by the attack, I had had the overall mental chatter under control for a couple of years by that point, and I kind of muddled my way along from there, which I think is why it took me so long to master controlling the chatter when emotions are stronger. Like my little _issue_ with reading Remus’ mind around the dementors, and the boggart in third year.

Actually, it wasn’t just Remus on that day with the boggart. Everyone who faced it, gave me a more-than-personal insight about their worst fears, and some other memories too. I’ve never mentioned it to anyone. How would I even begin to mention it without giving myself away entirely?

When I check back into Cassia’s mind a minute or so later, it’s almost completely silent, other than her own thoughts, and a few background escapees, around her shielding. I clap my hands, impressed, and her shield falls, exhaustion draining her small magical reserves.

I catch her in my arms, showering her with praise at the achievement. I conjure a blanket with my free hand and lay it out on the grass, and Cassia babbles excitedly, despite the exhaustion weighing on her mind. She’s going to sleep well tonight, that’s for sure.

The commentator’s voice floats around us, the match seemingly lasting ages. When the voice announces the seekers both diving for something together, the current score sixty-sixty, I’m sitting up on the grass, tense with anticipation, despite not seeing what is actually happening on the pitch.

Cassia’s content with the mental story I’m providing, despite how half-hearted it is.

“SLYTHERIN SEEKER DRACO MALFOY CATCHES THE SNITCH! SLYTHERIN WINS, TWO HUNDRED AND TEN TO SIXTY!”

I actually jump up in excitement at Draco’s win, and Cassia pouts at my abrupt ending to the story. I smile apologetically at her, and the screams and cheers that erupt from the Slytherin end of the pitch are deafening, even from this distance. Cassia claps her hands dramatically over her ears, before running off to catch Hermione, who’s walking across the grass towards the greenhouses.

I let her go, reinforcing the shields around her, and stand, leaning against the side of the wooden pitch structure, looking into the pitch where the Slytherin spectators have descended to crowd around their team. I’m at a far enough distance to be casually watching, but close enough that they would recognise who I am. That _Draco_ will recognise who I am.

He’s surrounded by Slytherins, and the Hufflepuff team, in permanent good spirits about the Quidditch cup, congratulate the winners, and amicably chat with their housemates who have joined them on the pitch, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor watching from the stands for any of the usual post-game drama to ensue.

As I watch Draco celebrate with his team, I catch him prodding at our connection, demanding to know where I am. I don’t respond outright, simply giving him a marker as to where to look. He turns around on the spot, ignoring the questions of his team, and catches my eye.

I see Daphne Greengrass whisper something in his ear when she notices me, and Draco gives her a one-arm, sweaty hug, which she squeals at. Then he pushes his way through the crowd, broom in his hand, directly towards me. He’s garnered the attention of every Slytherin on the pitch, and I wince slightly as most of them turn to look at me.

 _Damnit, Maevey, come here,_ he tells me, sighing mentally at me when I don’t move, frozen under the sceptical and angry eyes of the Slytherins at the Gryffindor intrusion to their star player.

 _Are you sure about this?_ I ask carefully, and the happiness radiating off him is answer enough.

I push on a mask of confidence and walk onto the pitch, Draco freeing himself from the Slytherin rabble, so we’re walking towards each other, unmistakably so, under the eyes of the entire school, like a scene out of one of the few muggle films I watched before joining Hogwarts when living with a host muggle family. The frozen ground crunches underneath my feet, mud and grass congealed together under the icy layer, and I take care in my steps as to not fall, bracing my walk with magic, a spell I have no idea if it even formally exists.

When Draco reaches me, he takes me in his arms, kissing me hard, the ferocity no doubt coming from the adrenaline from the match that had yet to wear off. The world around me fades out of my mind, and I kiss him back, wrapping my arms around his neck.

When we broke apart, the entire stadium was silent, and Draco grin was dimming in a burst of too-late realisation.

“I love you too,” I murmur to him as he rests his forehead on mine. “But you’re all sweaty, and kind of smell,” I grin, pulling away from him, and he makes a disbelieving, borderline offended noise. 

I lean up to kiss him again, a quick gesture with the same feeling behind it as the last kiss.

“I think you’re also going to want to talk to them,” I say, gesturing behind him at all the Slytherins, who’s emotions vary on a grand scale. Greengrass, for one, is excited and happy for her friend, but the majority range from anger, to upset, to jealousy here and there with both genders. Storing away that detail to mention later, I kiss him again and leave the pitch, forcing myself not to look away from everyone in shame.

 _Draco is my boyfriend, and now the whole school knows. There’s nothing to be ashamed of,_ I remind myself, and head to the greenhouses to find Hermione and Cassia.

***

By lunchtime, the news about us has travelled around the school, and has reached my ears by the way of first years gossiping loudly around the entrance to Gryffindor tower.

Apparently, it’s more interesting than the match result, which I don’t see the truth in at all. Though, the inter-house rivalry between Hufflepuff and Slytherin is fairly minimal, there were still a few penalties to talk about, and I’m sure I missed more than a few interesting manoeuvres.

Ron pulls me aside after lunch, Harry and Hermione shepherding Cassia away in a clearly-planned move. We borrow an empty classroom, and Ron shuts the door carefully behind us.

He fidgets a little with his hands, before meeting my eyes unwaveringly. “I’ve been an arse to you, about Malfoy,” he starts, and I nod. Ron sighs. “Look, I’m apologising here, and with this being somewhat _public_ now, I know I’m going to need to get used to the idea of you dating the ferret.”

I give Ron a half-smirk, and he relaxes a little.

“Please, just don’t give him a hard time; the whole school already has their choice opinions ready for us, I don’t want the disapproval of one of my best friends,” I almost beg, and Ron nods, biting down on a retort. He pulls me into a somewhat awkward hug – Ron doesn’t do hugging, never really.

When he moves away from me, his fingers find a loose thread on his robes, pulling and fiddling with it relentlessly. “Maeve, are you doing okay? I mean, Fred and George mentioned a few things to me at the party after the match, and because I’ve been an arse, I haven’t asked.”

Something like brief annoyance tugs at my heart, and I banish the emotion as soon as it arrives. Unable to claim to be surprised with the twins, I settle for a comforting smile.

“I’m fine, truly. You know how they worry about me, for reasons unknown,” I grin, and Ron rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, you did manage to make favourite younger sibling without being related,” he acknowledges, only the smallest twinge of upset in his aura at the truth in the statement. It had been much worse, once, but I managed to convince the two youngest Weasleys I didn’t want to replace anyone when I cut myself out of their lives entirely for a few weeks back in third year.

I guess I really do have a history of ducking out on people entirely. Huh.

“I’m fine, ‘Mione is getting better, Harry’s doing better with his nightmares and you’re not falling behind on classwork. Everything’s getting better in time for Christmas,” I smile. The Weasley sighs at me, nudging into my shoulder to knock me off balance as we leave the classroom, headed back towards Gryffindor Tower. On the way past the entrance to the Great Hall, I catch sight of Draco, sitting with the Slytherins for a slightly later lunch, and my lips tip upward at the Slytherins, clearly still getting along despite the revelation of the muggleborn girlfriend.

I know the real trouble will be when the news gets back to Draco’s parents. His Christmas, already tainted with his father’s desire to take the Dark Mark, is going to shit. Maybe that’s why he wanted this demonstration of us to happen now. When there are still two weeks before the end of term, and maybe, if his father is a little calmer by the time of his return, he stands a chance at returning and having a normal holiday.

I think that borders on wishful thinking. A little optimism won’t hurt.

On the stairs up to the Tower, Ron manages to walk into Hermione as they round a blind corner, a pile of books scattering out of Hermione’s arms.

“Merlin, ‘Mione, where are you going?” Ron asked, not kindly, as he picked up a few of the books, looking judgementally at the titles. I took an involuntary step back, levitating some of the books so she could grab them. If they want to argue, I’m ready to let them have at it; Harry’s the naïve one who intervenes, not me.

“The Forbidden Forest,” Hermione deadpans, and confusion sparks in Ron’s eyes, before a wave of anger overtakes his energy at her sarcasm.

“Why do you even need all these? We don’t even study half these topics this year?” Ron questions, letting his voice, and his temper, rise in sync.

Hermione glares at him, her own anger flaring over-exhaustion. “Forgive me if I’m just interested in my subjects,” she snaps, and juggles the books, shoving them into a satchel on her shoulder, imbuing the bag with an extension charm. Ron opens his mouth to retort, and I cut in.

“Godric, can’t you two just fuck already?”

My shock factor statement hits its mark perfectly, and the two of them turn to me, both now glaring at a common target. I glared back, fighting the smile tugging at my lips as I read the true emotions the two of them were hiding under the icy looks.

I don’t let my face give away any of what I’m reading as I stare the two down, waiting for one of them to break. Hermione does first, rolling her eyes at me and disappearing off towards the library. Ron and I continue for Gryffindor Tower, and I smirk to myself at the antics of two of my best friends, wondering if this could be any more of a cliché.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Caity B xx


	26. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: lots of smut, BDSM-style, and language

Draco comes to find me, late Saturday night, presumably after the Slytherin celebrations are dying down. He’s wearing a crazy grin as he sweeps me into his arms, kissing me fiercely, the way I could tell he wanted to earlier, but thankfully restrained himself in front of the whole school.

“Congratulations on the win,” I murmured into his lips, and his grip on my waist tightened. He pulled me closer, and in a slightly out of character move, guided my arms around him into a hug.

Blocking my worry from seeping through our connection, I held him as he rested his head on my shoulder.

“My parents are going to find out about us,” he muttered into my shoulder. “Severus will have owled them by now, or one of my friends will have.”

His worry is leaking out of his mind, and I put a gentle barrier up, so he can maintain his privacy, if he chooses. The Malfoys finding out about their only son, their only _heir_ , dating a Muggleborn isn’t going to go down well – honestly, it’s the same as I would imagine it having gone down with my own parents, my own family. The Walters, whilst they were never in league with Dark Wizards, weren’t exactly _accepting_ when it came to their political opinions.

I half expect Lucius Malfoy to come storming into Hogwarts to scold his son in person, but I doubt he would send a Howler. Too public, too embarrassing. Our relationship already degrades the Malfoy name in his eyes – publicly denouncing his son would only make the situation worse, and the backlash more public.

“What do you think they will do?” I ask him gently, pulling back from the hug to study his expression.

He shrugs, but unconvincingly, not meeting my eyes. “Father might take me out of Hogwarts – he’s been threatening Durmstrang for years. This could be the final straw.”

My breath catches in my throat. “How likely is that?” I manage to ask, and he drops my hand.

“Some of us aren’t seventeen until June; until then, I have no control. Fuck, even once I’m of age, I won’t have control of my life whilst my Father is free.” His tone is bitter, and angry, but I know the anger isn’t directed at me, despite the jibe about my birthday.

“So, what are we going to do about that?” I ask, hands resting on his hips, with my best no-nonsense tone. Draco shakes his head, the usual flicker of hope in his aura almost extinguished. “Draco, my love, if you think I’m letting you go because Lucius Malfoy says so, you might want to think again.”

His eyes narrowed at my words, but the kernel of hope brightened.

“We could go to Dumbledore, he could pull strings at the Ministry to emancipate you,” I suggested, and he rolled his eyes. “If you tell him about the Dark Mark, then he will do it,” I add softly when he goes to object, most likely to belittle his importance to Dumbledore.

He steps back, and I let my hands drop without any resistance.

“Maeve, you have no idea the kinds of strings my father would pull in order to rescind that kind of action.”

“More strings than Dumbledore?” I challenge carefully, and words fail Draco as he makes wild hand gestures, searching for the words.

He sighs defeatedly. “I don’t know, Maevey. But can we just have tonight without having to worry about it?” His voice is quiet, almost pleading, and I nod, readily dropping the subject, though my mind is working overtime to find a solution.

“And what did you have in mind?” I ask, a smile gracing my lips. He blushes as he sees my meaning, offering only a short nod to confirm what he wants. “Come on, love, tell me what you want,” I encourage, tension bubbling away as the atmosphere in the room changed.

Draco gulped, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. He shook his head mildly, taking a step forward and cupping my face.

“You know what I want,” Draco murmured, his lips grazing mine. “You could just read it if you wanted to. You just want to hear me say it.”

I nod simply, a smirk forming on my lips. I kissed him, softly, and when he tried to speed the pace, I landed a firm smack on his arse without even thinking. His lips parted in surprise, and his eyes darkened, but not in anger. No, the emotion radiating out of my boyfriend wasn’t anger – it was lust.

“I’m going to keep this slow until you talk, Draco,” I say matter of factly, as if we’re talking about politics, not his sexual fantasies. “So, it’s entirely up to you,” I add with a predatory grin.

He groans at me, and I ghost my lips along his own, the only contact between us. Again, he tries to deepen the kiss, and I slap his arse, a little harder than the first.

“What do you want, Draco? I could strip you naked, tie you up and edge you into oblivion until you’re begging for release. I could stroke your cock through your trousers until you’re prepared to come in your pants and deal with the consequences later? Or I could tie you up, leaving you hard and straining in your trousers whilst I pleasure myself, letting you watch but unable to get any release yourself?”

My teasing words were enough that I knew he was hard already, and his pupils were blown so wide only the smallest ring of silver remained. Sensing that another fantasy might push him over an edge of embarrassment and ruin it all, I took his hand gently and kissed him.

“Why don’t we head upstairs?” I suggest, and he nodded, his steps awkward and clunky as he tried to hide his erection.

Once in my room, I locked the door, and turned to Draco, who was flushed and taking intentional steadying breaths. I lean up to kiss him again, and he lets me take the lead willingly. I know this is what he wanted really, but that Malfoy pride forbids him from asking it of me.

Making the decision to stop pushing for a verbal answer, I say softly: “Will you let me take control, love?” He nods, a flicker of fear shrouded in anticipation at the smirk on my face. Casting a wordless, wandless transfiguration on my underwear to make them a little sexier without Draco noticing is easy enough as our lips join again.

“Will you take your clothes off for me, love?” I ask gently, and Draco hesitates, before nodding. I step back, leaning against the edge of my bedframe, wondering if he would let me restrain him.

 _Think about that in a minute – for now, watch him,_ I chide myself.

Draco stripping off his clothes for me was a sight to behold. Heat pooled in my core as Draco made a show of removing his shirt and shoes. Vulnerability begins to seep into his aura as his fingers mess up the clasp on his belt, and I push forward a reassurance into the front of my mind, and close to our connection. This is only fun if Draco’s having fun – otherwise it gets borderline fucked up.

When his trousers are off, his erection straining through the thin fabric of his pants, I stop him, and he readily does, clearly embarrassed about the showy situation I came up with. He doesn’t move, though his hands automatically go to attempt to hide his cock.

“Hands by your sides,” I instruct, and he hesitates before moving his arms to hang limply at his sides.

I drink in the sight of him, the feeling of his submission. I want to push it further, see what he’s up for, but it takes me too long to find the words, and Draco’s vulnerability, standing there under my intense gaze, is pushing his limits.

Crossing the distance between us, I take his lips in a kiss, pouring the emotions through a mental connection. The love, the lust, the admiration at his vulnerability.

“Can I- can I restrain you?” I whisper, failing to interject the confidence I need into my tone.

“Yeah,” he consents, and my fingers find the waistband of his pants, and I remove them in one swift movement. His cock stands free, seeming persistent at its need for attention; the attention I’m not going to give at least not yet.

When he lies down, partially propped up with the pillow, I summon both our school ties and tie his hands to the bedframe, in a simple but steadfast knot, then adding a charm on top.

“If you say _resolvo_ , then these will break, okay?” I tell him, regaining an authority to my voice. He nods. “Draco, love, can we try out loud?”

“Yes, Maeve,” he responds, and I smile, kissing his bound fingertips, each hand in turn. Then, purposefully lightly trailing my fingers along his body, all the way down his arms, along the sides of his ribs, over his pale hips and down the V-shaped dip at the top of his thigh. He groans as I pause before touching his cock, and his hips jump in anticipation.

“Oh, love, I’m going to have to teach you to be patient again, aren’t I?” I grin, taking my hands away from him entirely, and, sitting down on my haunches over his legs, my fingers stray to the buttons on my shirt.

When the green-and-gold lace appears, Draco’s eyes darken to the point from this far away I can barely make out the colour of his eyes. I discard the whole shirt to the floor carelessly, and vanish my tights and skirt, leaving me in a set of green-and-gold lingerie that leaves extraordinarily little to the imagination.

“What do you want to do, Draco? Shall we play?” I ask wickedly, and I resisted the urge to try and tip him over the edge with just my words, and wicked fantasies. There would be other opportunities to torture him to orgasm with words.

Draco’s hands strain slightly against his bonds, and I’m glad I put the spell on the ties, else they would not have held up.

“M-Maeve,” he managed to groan as I held his gaze with a seductive flutter of my eyes. “Please.”

“Please what?”

My insistence to get him to talk was partly for mutual benefit of not pushing too far, but also that hearing things out loud was a trust thing – Draco trusting me with what he wants sexually is a huge turn on for me, and by him telling me these things, he’s surrendering himself to just be pleasured, in the exact way that he wants, give or take a little bit of pushing of his boundaries from me.

“Oh fuck – Maeve, you know what I – please – fuck,” he groaned, unable to finish sentences, but I know what he wants, even without my Legilimency. It’s not difficult to read the lust on him.

“Don’t come until I give you permission, okay?” I say, withholding my touch. When he agrees, I press a soft kiss to his lips, arching so his cock only just grazes the skin of my stomach. I swallow the moan emanating from him, and tension rolls of his body in waves as he tries to supress the automatic buck of his hips to increase the friction on his cock. He’s successful, that much I can tell, and his submission rushes arousal through me. My own sex clenches in anticipation, but I ignore it as I take in Draco’s restrained body in front of me.

A wave of my hand tightens the security on the door, and casts an acuity charm, intensifying the sensations between us.

I laid a careful trail of kisses, from his mouth, down his neck, across the muscles in his torso, and to just below his naval, avoiding any skin that was too sensitive, and driving him mental with desire.

“Ma-Maeve,” he moaned, as my fingertips ghosted around the base of his cock, and he slipped in his control, hips jolting towards my hands. The rough contact was anything other than sensual, but the groan he let out was erotic, even from the accidental contact.

I withdrew away from him, shooting him my best stern gaze. “Draco Malfoy, is this desperation I see?” He keened slightly at my words, his fingers and toes curling and flexing as if trying to expel some of the tension from his cock.

“You-You didn’t tell me I couldn’t,” he managed to remark, the Draco sass making its appearance for the first time. I landed a slap on his thigh for the insolence, and his eyes widen, though he’s unable to conceal how much that turned him on as I check in on his emotional aura.

“Thank you for letting me know about the loophole,” I say seriously, as if talking about something legal. “From now on then, don’t move your body unless I say so.” He groans at the new rule, and I hesitate before I start up anything again, giving him the chance to tell me it’s too much, but he doesn’t, even when prompted.

The sharp exhale he lets out when my fingers touch his cock is all I need to hear to know he is loving this as much as I am. Something resembling a whimper escapes his lips when I take my hand away to summon some lube.

“Patience, my love. I’m sure you remember that spell I talked about that will make this a whole lot harder,” I threaten, with a teasing slide of my hand up and down his cock. He keens and groans, thighs twitching with the effort to stay still.

To his credit, he doesn’t move as I pour lube onto his cock, spreading it out with my fingers. With my other hand, I rub the inside of his thigh close to his cock, and he groans. Curling my hand around the base of his cock, I let my warm fingers sit there, to see how far his patience will last.

After almost a full minute, his voice breaks. “Maeve, I – you’re killing me – please.”

In a rough motion as he finishes speaking, I pump his cock, and any remaining arguments die in his mouth. Three times I move, and that’s when he breaks, thrusts upward into my hand, desperate for more. I slap his thigh, raising my eyebrows, and he groans.

“What’s the rush, love?” I ask teasingly, leaning up to kiss him firmly, half my mind encased in the feeling of Draco’s lips on my own, but being entirely in my control, and the other half on what sort of punishment I can come up with if he disobeys me again. Whilst our lips are locked, and his eyes have slid closed, I magic away my bra.

When I pull away, I straddle his legs, brushing my fingers lightly over his cock, and tapping at the head, my finger beaded with precome as I pull away.

“Is my Draco mad for me?” I purr, lapping gently at his head.

Draco groaned, shifting slightly at the sensation. I take his cock fully in my mouth as I land a slap on his thigh, harder than the last, and he bucks his hips at the unexpected contact.

 _Last chance, my love,_ I tell him mentally, since my lips are somewhat in use, and he groans and keens, keeping his body firmly planted against the mattress. Continuing my slow ministrations, I run my tongue up and down the bulging veins standing out from the smooth skin of his erect shaft. His cock stiffens further, and his words become incoherent begs for release.

I pull away from him, the word _no_ waiting on my lips when he bucks up at the loss of contact, instant guilt clouding his lust-hazed vision. One wordless spell later, and Draco’s wilted like a flower, much to his own horror.

“If you can’t follow instructions, then you don’t get to come, love,” I tease, bringing my lips to his for a passionate kiss.

The spell, something I can’t particularly remember where I found – possibly reading someone’s mind, maybe the extensive Walters library – removes a man’s ability to come by dulling his erection, but doesn’t lessen any of the sexual frustration of a prolonged hard-on.

When Draco’s mind catches up to his body, he groans. I check in with his aura, make sure I’m not pushing too hard. I double check with him verbally, and despite his own complaints, he assures me he would stop this if he needed to.

“ _Resolvo,_ ” I mutter, and the tie-bonds fall away. Draco looks to me with curious, if somewhat masochistic, intent. “Touch yourself,” I instruct, and he doesn’t hesitate to get his hand around his flaccid cock. His moan echoes, but he physically can’t react; there is no release until I lift the spell.

“Do you remember last time you went down on me?” I ask, lifting his face to meet mine as he continues to stroke his limp cock, eyes darkening in lust at the memory. He nods. “I want you to do it again, and you can’t come this time to cut all the fun short.”

I sit with my legs slightly apart as Draco moves, hand falling away from his cock easily, as the stimulation there must be killing him. “Do your worst, but you can't take these off,” I instruct with a smirk, gesturing to the green and gold panties, and a grin comes across his face before it’s lost to me, pressing kisses up the insides of my thighs, one hand gently caressing my wet sex. I’m tight and dripping as Draco slips his finger side me, playing with my clit with his thumb, in small circles of pressure.

I let out a few moans, each more elicit than the last, and Draco’s aura flashes with unbridled arousal at each sound. My own impatience wins out, and I tell Draco to remove the last scrap of clothing from me, which he does eagerly, the lack of barrier making his task easier.

In a few short minutes, he pushes me over the edge of orgasm, my eyes slipping shut at the wave of ecstasy flooding into me.

Looking back to Draco, he's frantically touching his cock, desperation seeping into his every move, and I catch his hand, my narrowed eyes much less threatening post-orgasm.

“If I lift the spell, you can't come yet, remember?” I say, and he nods, agreeing to anything to lessen the frustration building in his chest. Draco panted out an oral agreement when I gave him a sharp look, and I warned him as I lifted the spell, wordlessly casting the counter-spell.

Draco almost screamed when his hard-on snapped back into place, his head darkening, and balls reddening under the instant strain.

“Please please please, Maeve, let me come,” he whined and begged, but I denied him. A sob tore from Draco’s throat, and I, even as I watched him carefully, doubted if he would be able to last. Denying his orgasm could only last so long before he couldn't listen, even if he wanted to.

“Fuck me,” I commanded him, and Draco continued his pleading, even as his throbbing cock teased my entrance. When he first thrust inside, he stilled when buried to the hilt, crying out and begging for his release.

“Five thrusts, my love, and then you can ask again. Count them aloud for me; don't miss one,” I told him, meeting his lips for a reassuring kiss. Draco knew he could end this if he desired, but he was clearly enjoying this far more than I think he would ever admit to himself.

As he moved, inching slowly as his muddled brain attempted to lessen the tension in other ways, he misjudged it completely and his cock missed my entrance, sliding up against my swollen clit, and I gasped. Realigning himself, he managed to murmur, “One,” as he buried himself in my channel again.

“Two,” he cried out, his muscles spasming slightly in his legs, and when he shakily thrust into me again, and again, his words failed him. I caught his throbbing cock in my fingers as he pulled out to thrust again in a messy movement, and he looked up at me, tears falling as he realised his own mistake.

“Three, four,” I count for him, pumping my hand up his cock twice in rough movements I know turn him on, and he cried out, the same sharp sounds he made right before his own release. “No,” I answer his unasked question, and I give him a minute to calm, to settle so he doesn't lose his mind or his control.

“Five,” he says shakily as he thrusts into me again, leaving his throbbing cock inside me as he looks to my face, tears burning bright with desire in his eyes. I bring him in close, my lips grazing his, kissing him in a gentle move.

“Come for me, my love,” I murmur into his lips, tightening my walls around him, and I feel the thick ropes of come shooting into my channel as Draco cries out in pure bliss at the release in tension. His limbs fail him, and he falls to the bed next to me, softening cock still resting inside me.

“It’s okay, my love, I’ve got you,” I assure him, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him against me, gently removing his soft cock out of me. I summon water for him, pressing the bottle to his lips, and he takes some in small sips.

Draco nestles further into me when I put the bottle aside. Summoning a box of chocolates remaining from the last Honeydukes visit, I offer one to him, and he opens his mouth for it, grinning as the sweetness explodes on his tongue.

“I love you,” he manages to say, before he drops off to sleep, cradled in my arms. I smile, my own waves of oblivion summoning me as I fall into a slumber, the mental chatter quieted, my only focus on Draco.

***

Sunday morning is lost to schoolwork, and all the assignments I have yet to complete for the upcoming week. I think I must truly be mental to be taking eight NEWTs. But here we are.

Draco’s taking seven, so he’s not much better than me, but as he pointed out, he has considerably fewer responsibilities than I do. When I get to the defence assignment, I’m bored, and so is Cassia, so I take that as my excuse to ditch the books.

“What do you want to do, Cassia?” I ask her gently, and behind me I feel memories of last night flood into Draco’s mind. Resisting the urge to smirk at him, I turn my attention fully to my sister.

She shrugs, lying on the rug in front of the fire, cuddling her Hippogriff close and staring at the ceiling. Worry spikes in me. I scoot next to her, resting a gentle hand on her forehead, but, other than that’s she’s by the fire, she doesn’t seem to have a temperature.

“We could go out flying?” I suggest, and her eyes widen fearfully, a clear no. “Gymnastics? Trampoline? Legilimency?” Each suggestion is met with a shake of the head, and I’m running out of ideas.

 _Cassia, baby, you have to tell me what’s wrong for me to fix it,_ I say softly into her mind, switching to a more personal way of conversing.

 _I want Mummy,_ she says, tears shining in her eyes, and I stutter. I pull her into my chest, letting her cry into my arms as I figure out what I can say. Draco sends me a worried look and I shoot a helpless one back.

 _So do I, baby, so do I,_ I say, feeling my own emotions welling up. I can’t do anything to help Cassia, other than just being here as her sister, and with all my magic, I’ve never felt so powerless.

Draco hovers uncertainly for a moment when he stands, then crosses the room in a few strides and envelopes the both of us in his arms, holding us close in comfort.

“Maevey, Cassia, it’s going to be okay,” Draco says softly, “I know it’s tricky, but you have each other, you’ll help hold each other up.”

I stare at Draco, a typical Walters emotionlessness threatening to overcome me, but I push it away, kissing his cheek lightly and hugging Cassia closer into me.

When her tears stop, I stand up with her in my arms. “Let’s go for a walk, yeah, Cass?” She agrees a little reluctantly, but still runs up the stairs to put on her cloak and boots to protect against the cool winter air.

Draco kisses me fiercely when he stands. “I have no idea how you do that, but you are brilliant Maeve Walters,” he compliments me, hands holding mine firmly.

 _Maeve, Snape Warning,_ Fawkes cries into my head, and my expression changes, anger lining my eyes. _Dumbledore found the communications between Snape and the Malfoys, and Snape is coming there now._

 _Thanks for letting me know,_ I say to the phoenix, and Fawkes mentally nods to me in recognition. He fades away with a parting _good luck_ , and I try and neutralise my expression when I nod back at him.

Draco eyes me suspiciously as my face changes back to calm, and I try my best to sound neutral, hiding that anger.

“So, that was Fawkes; Snape’s been in contact with your parents, and is apparently pissed on their behalf,” I fill him in briefly, and Draco’s eyes widen in shock.

“As in Dumbledore’s phoenix?” I nod. “Shit, Maeve, I didn’t know you could talk to phoenixes,” he replied, and I managed a grin. His face fell. “It’s not just phoenixes, is it?”

“Any animal really, but magical animals are so much more coherent,” I explain, and he rolls his eyes as my ring lights up, with, unsurprisingly, the name Severus Snape.

“We are going to talk about this later,” he warns me as I loosen the wards, grasping Draco’s hand firmly in reassurance as we face the Potions Master, and Draco’s Godfather, together.

Together. Always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your Kudos!
> 
> \- Caity B xx


	27. Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: eating disorder recovery/setbacks (mentioned), family deaths/grief

Draco refused to speak of the conversation he had with Snape after the professor all but dragged him from my room to talk. The last day of term had approached, and I didn’t want to invade his privacy by looking for myself.

The last day of term had rolled around, and everyone was packing, very few students staying at school for the holidays. Cassia and I had a shared satchel, imbued with an undetectable extension charm and weightlessness charms ready from the night before the last day, and I spent as much of the last evening of term with Draco.

I didn’t push him about the tension I could see building up in him as time wore on, and we got closer to the holidays. After Cassia went to sleep, and we’d both ditched schoolbooks, I made hot chocolate, and we settled in front of the fire together. I leant down on his shoulder, letting my eyes slip closed as I tested out his aura. 

That’s when I finally dared breach the subject I’d been avoiding all evening. “What are you going to do if it gets bad at home?”

Draco stiffened under me, and put his mug down on the table. I noted the fine tremor in his fingers, but didn’t comment on it, instead lacing my fingers through his.

“Maeve, I don’t know,” he admitted, not looking me in the eye.

“Draco,” I start, not realising how much of a warning my tone became. I tried to temper it back to normal as I continued: “Please, if you need to, go to Walters Manor. I want you to be safe.”

He sighed, a hand drifting over to his forearm and gripping it tightly. My brows furrow as I try and place where I’ve seen that motion before, and when I recall it, I prise his fingers away quickly.

“Don’t let them give it to you,” I manage to whisper, the fear crystallising in my voice. “Please.”

He hugged me close as my voice broke, and I held onto him fiercely. When the sadness leached into my aura, I pulled away from him, raising my thumb to wipe away the tears that are falling down his pale face.

“My love, don’t cry, you’ll make it through this,” I encourage, “You could go straight to Walters Manor, you don’t have to go back at all,” I offer, but Draco shakes his head, tears gleaming in the firelight.

“I have to see my mother, see if she can change my father’s mind, just a chance,” he explains, and I nod in recognition. I know how much he values his relationship with his mother, and I have such respect for the woman that is able to not take the Dark Mark when everyone around her did long ago.

But not quite enough respect that makes me think it’s a good idea for him to openly display his desires to run away. Though I can tell, for Draco, it’s not up for debate. He clearly loves his mother.

“Okay, but promise me to leave if it gets dangerous,” I persuade, and he nods in earnest.

“And for now,” I start, getting up from the sofa, and earning a curious look from the blonde. “Your Christmas present,” I explain as I summon a box from upstairs. He rolls his eyes at my eagerness when I press the box into his hands, gently wiping away the last of his tears.

He unties the ribbon around the box with more care than I would expect, and it’s only when he starts unfolding the paper with the same precision that I cotton onto what he’s doing. He can see, no, feel, my excitement, and he’s holding back on me for just that reason. The same way I test his patience in the bedroom, he’s learning tricks to enact a small amount of revenge on me. I go with it, because, he can’t deny how much my control turns him on, and how easily I can make him melt with just a few lewd suggestions.

When he eventually gets to the box, and lifts the lid, his breath catches.

“Maeve,” he whispers, picking up the silver dragon pendant. “It’s beautiful.” I blush at his praise, and the note flies out of the box; Draco, with his seeker reflexes, catches it easily. As he scans down the list, his jaw gradually slackens, and eyes widen.

“If there’s anything you don’t want on it, I’ll take it away,” I say when he looks up. The list of enchantments and protections is extensive, and I didn’t want to go too far with it, but at the same time, I want to know I’m doing everything I can to protect him.

“Did you do all this yourself?” he asks in disbelief, and I nod with a wry smile. “Oh, right, Walters,” he mocks lightly, fixing the clasp of the pendant. “So it really won’t come off unless I want it to?” he clarified, looking back to the list. I put almost everything I could think of on there, other than an outright tracking enchantment. I guessed that might be pushing it a little too far on the overprotective-girlfriend scale. But it’s imbued with multiple protection spells against all sorts of magic, and though it won’t block Unforgivables, it’s got enough protection to keep him safe from his parents.

“Not without some serious magic to break the spell,” I amend my written description, and Draco grins.

“So you do have some sense of when you’re being overconfident.” I stick my tongue out at him, and he shakes his head in laughter. “Oh, Maevey, what am I going to do with you?”

***

On the train back to London, Harry, Ron, Hermione and I had the official conversation of what I needed to expect by going to Grimmauld Place for the first time.

“The paintings will constantly insult you,” Hermione warned me, and I rolled my eyes.

“I’d expect no less from the majority of the Blacks,” I admitted.

“My mum is going to have a few choice words for you, I can imagine,” Ron added, his face flushing red. “She was pretty worried over the summer when you dropped out on us.” Another person I owe an apology to for my actions. I know I apologised in my letter, when I asked for advice about correcting Cassia’s eating habits, but I probably owe her one in person.

When lunch rolls around, Cassia’s enamoured by the trolley witch, and between us, we buy and eat a sizeable proportion of the cart. I hand Hermione over her Nutrition Potion, with the promise to brew it with her during the stay at Grimmauld Place.

I took Harry and Ron aside a few days ago to explain in the briefest terms I could manage about what Hermione’s going through. Whilst they both seemed to have noticed something was up, neither of them knew in any details, and I practically begged a little tact if they brought it up around her. They agreed without too many questions, and neither of them showed any interest in joining with our in the brewing process for the potion. Voluntary potions isn’t something I expect from them – they only took the NEWT to get into the Auror training program.

I’d waved Draco off earlier to spend the journey with his Slytherin friends, since he hadn’t had a lot of time with them for a little while. We’d said our goodbyes then, not wanting to cause a scene in front of any parents on the platform. Particularly Draco’s parents. Privately, I was dreading a bad reaction from his Slytherin friends if word got out that Draco had refused the Dark Mark and bailed on his parents, not because all Slytherins are Death Eaters, but because I know for a fact some of their parents are Death Eaters, without any shadow of doubt.

Harry can attest to a lot of them, from the Triwizard sabotage and the night in the graveyard.

I hadn’t mentioned Draco’s situation to any of my friends, but if I ended up ducking out part-way through the holidays, I’d have some serious explaining to do. But, providing Draco wasn’t hurt, I planned on giving them an explanation before I left.

Cassia fell asleep part of the way through the journey, and I had to wake her up carefully as we pulled into King’s Cross Station, platform nine and three quarters.

We collect our cases, and make our way over to where Mrs Weasley, Charlie and the twins are waiting. Cassia dropped my hand and ran at the twins, Fred laughing as he scooped her up in his arms. Mrs Weasley’s eyes lit up as she saw us, and Ginny a few paces behind us, and dragged us all into hugs, embarrassing her biological children to no end.

“There’s a new apparation point at the end of the platform,” Charlie informed us as we bypassed the gate back into the muggle world. Between all the students, we were a little nervous to be Side-Along Apparating, though this wasn’t my first time.

Mrs Weasley stepped onto the point first, with both Ron and Ginny, their holiday cases clutched tightly in one hand as they gripped their mother’s arm with the other. Then Charlie went with Harry, and George with Hermione, and Fred, Cassia and I were left standing on the platform.

He shoots me a reassuring smile, and I take his outstretched hand, hoisting my satchel higher onto my shoulder, and taking Cassia’s other hand. My insides lurch uncomfortably as he apparates, and the stretching and squeezing sensations last seconds until we’re thrust out onto the doorstep of a London townhouse, presumably Grimmauld Place. Cassia’s got her eyes squeezed shut, and I coax her to open them, as we walk inside.

The house is unbearably gloomy as dusk is hitting outside, and I narrowly avoid tripping over the umbrella stand. Fred leads us comfortably into the kitchen, where the others are gathered, plus a few more Order members – Remus, Tonks, Arthur.

I scan over Remus, checking him for signs that he’s not okay, or that he’s figured out a connection between me and my mother. Luckily he hasn’t, though his mind is a little more complicated due to the upcoming full moon and I might have missed something. It’s in two days, and Hermione’s wanted to make the Wolfsbane potion for him, under Snape’s instruction, though I’m not sure how likely that would be.

Mrs Weasley’s softer expression disappears when I walk through the door, and her eyes narrow to me.

“Maeve Ellis, don’t you dare ever do that again!” she starts, and I feel the anger rise up in her aura, cleverly hidden from me before, though I doubt that was intentional. I’m not sure about the extent of Molly’s knowledge about my legilimency, but I know I’ve never told her outright about it.

Cassia shifts in Fred’s arm, and she manages to get a hold on my fingers, clinging to them with a vice grip.

“I’m sorry, but I had to look after her, and I didn’t think it would be possible to bring her here,” I explain, tired of the same arguments that make me look a little silly. I know it wasn’t necessarily my most logical conclusion, but it was the one Aunt Hannah provided me with, and I didn’t think to question it, and potentially jeopardise Cassia’s safety.

Molly looked as if she wanted to cut in, and demand more of an explanation than I wanted to give, when Tonks interjected: “Well, once you’re an Order member, you won’t be able to duck out on us so easily.” Her grin cooled the words from what could quite easily sound like a threat into a joke.

I shot her an appreciative smile – she knows more about my past than Mrs Weasley does, and her stepping in to protect me has a nice feeling attached.

“There’s a room upstairs for you, and Cassia; Hermione and Ginny are sharing the one next door.” Molly’s discomfort faded as she directed us around, sending us all upstairs whilst she prepped and cooked dinner to unpack and settle in for the holidays.

The majority of the house was sorely lacking in Christmas decorations, as Cassia pointed out to me. The kitchen had a Christmas tree, largely consisting of the Weasley family decorations. Walters Manor always had the most amazing magical decorations, but I guess Cassia doesn’t remember those – just the Muggle decorations of Aunt Hannah’s house. Whilst Cassia bounces on her new bed, I write a letter to Aunt Hannah, explaining our plans for the holiday and a suggestion to meet up before we return to school.

I add my usual protections around Cassia’s bed to stop her falling out, and then we traipsed down the corridor, headed for Harry and Ron’s room at the end of the hallway. I ignored the arguing I could hear from inside, and knocked on the door, the noise falling silent instantly.

“Hate to intrude, but can I borrow Hedwig?” I ask as I walk in, taking in the auras and the tensions in the room. “Okay, so what the hell is going on here?” I say, surveying the two of them, on opposite sides of the room, staring daggers at each other.

 _Cassia baby, can you go and see Hermione and ask her to show you to library here?_ I ask my sister mentally, not wanting her to witness the argument brewing here. She agrees readily enough and skips out of the room, and I refocus my attention on the boys.

“Do you have to argue at Christmas?” I ask gently, and Harry looks to the floor whilst Ron continues to glare. “Okay then, what are you arguing about?” I change my tactic, trying to mediate an impossible argument.

“Someone’s a little upset about not being allowed to join the Order,” Ron snaps, shooting daggers at Harry.

“And you’re not?” I snap back, and Ron shrinks away a little. “We can’t change wizarding law, not even for the Chosen One. Breaking the Trace is impossible,” I turn to Harry, and he sighs, falling back onto his bed.

“This fight with Voldemort concerns me, moreso than any of you; it’s stupid that I’m not being included based on something arbitrary like my age,” he complains, and my eyes turn razor sharp, my words matching my expression.

“Don’t for a second think you’re the only one who’s lost things to Voldemort, Harry Potter,” I say quietly. He blanches slightly, and I don’t give him time to recover before I continue: “I know what you’ve lost, I really do, but at least everyone knows. The prophecy gives you an excuse for anything, not all of us got that.”

“Don’t you want this all to be over, though?” he tried, and I raised my eyebrows. Ron’s gone completely silent, looking as if he would rather be anywhere than here.

“Maybe we can figure out a way to break the prophecy,” I manage to say, holding back on my anger and slipping away into Walters emotionlessness. “You’re not the only powerful wizard, Harry.”

“Damnit Maeve, I know that,” he snapped.

“Your time will come when you can join, so will mine,” Ron tried to interject, suddenly (and unwillingly) becoming the mediator between mine and Harry’s arguing. The Weasley shrunk back when we both shot him glares, and in annoyance he stormed out of the room, leaving the two of us in the silence as the echo of the slammed door faded.

“Just have patience Harry, it won’t be long before you’re seventeen,” I said, my patience running thin. We’ve talked about this before, and I don’t care to go around in that loop again.

“How many more people can I have on my conscience, Maeve? How many?” he shouted, and the last remaining shard of patience in me shattered.

“Don’t pretend like this is about anyone other than Sirius and your parents,” I returned angrily, and Harry froze as if I stunned him.

It occurs to me, far too late as the words are already out my mouth, that Harry would think I found that out with my Legilimency – in reality, I was just throwing words around to hurt him, in the same way he was doing to me.

“And how’s your quest for revenge going, Maeve? You’re fucking the murderer’s son,” he seethed, and something hollowed inside me. I knew deep down he wasn’t okay with me and Draco, despite how he’s acted around us.

“Leave Draco out of this; I don’t go on quests for revenge! I’ve faced Snape every Godric-damned day since I found out it was him who murdered my mother without so much as a word about it to him, so don’t you accuse me of my joining of the Order being part of my revenge plan.”

The both of us paused, Harry’s anger in his aura softening slightly, and I feel my emotions drain out of me as the fight drains out of Harry.

“You can’t break a magical prophecy, even I know that.” Harry’s tone had turned gentle, as if I was the one being unreasonable.

“All the Walters are dead too,” I say emotionlessly, and Harry’s face turns slightly horrified. He stands, and reaches out to take my hand, and I flinch away, stepping back. “I’ll do what I can to get you inducted early, if that’s what you really want.” With my last words, I leave the room, tightness expanding in my chest as I turn blindly down the corridor, making it three steps before I lean back against the wall, a hand pressed over my chest as I tried to steady my breathing.

Harry didn’t follow me out the room as I half expected him to; instead, he slammed the door and the sealed room did little to conceal the anger from inside as his magic burst out from his body in a lapse in control.

The twins must have heard the commotion, and Fred stuck his head out their door, a few doors down from where I was stood, and met my gaze with a concerned smile.

“I’m fine,” I managed to say, and Fred rolled his eyes at me.

“I don’t need to be a magical empath to know you’re lying to me,” he insisted, and in defiance, I stood up a little straighter, and cleared my mine of everything that was going wrong, dropping back into a normal Walters headspace. “Still not convinced,” he grinned, grabbing my hand and unable to hide his own concern as he and George watched me closely.

“Fine. Fine, no, I’m not okay. I’m being inducted into the Order, not as myself, not being able to do everything I can for them. Even if it was as a Walters, I don’t have the time to be everyone’s Legilimens; Cassia’s my responsibility, I’m her legal guardian and I’m attempting, badly, to teach her how to not become a menace with her Legilimency when she’s old enough to understand how it works and what the lines we don’t cross are. Fuck, I barely know where the lines are, and I am not qualified to teach her. And Harry seems under the impression he’s the only one who can save us, which is utter bollocks, and I’m trying, I’m really trying not to lose it but damnit I’m one person and I can’t keep doing this!”

I don’t know where this anger came from, or how it’s built up this far without me noticing, but my rant leaves me breathless and drained, with two stunned Weasleys in front of me.

“Shit, Maeve, when was the last time you had a break?”

I shrug and sit down on the edge of George’s bed under strict duress. I wince as I hear the door open down the corridor, and then bang shut, and the distinct emotional signature of Harry passes down the corridor and out of range.

“What did you and Harry fight about then?” Fred asks gently, pushing aside the mountains of joke-shop paperwork and sitting in a chair opposite me.

I’m already coming to regret the words I threw at him, and I want to go and find him, but the chances that he won’t have cooled down yet are pretty high, and making it into round two of a fight isn’t something I want to instigate.

“Maeve, why won’t you talk to us?” George pressed, and I sighed, running my fingers through my hair.

“I don’t know how to talk about this,” I admit, staring at my clasped hands. “I can’t write it down and send it in a letter, I can’t override the Hogwarts block on Floo contact, and I keep fucking things up during the holidays anyway, I don’t want to then unload all my mental baggage too.”

The twins glance at each other, before saying together: “Then we’ll come to you.”

My eyes widen at the suggestion, and I’m quick to shake my head and try and change their minds. With a single look at their minds, I know I won’t be making a natural change to this idea of theirs any time soon, but it doesn’t stop me trying.

“Maevey, you’re family. Plus, you can’t stop us,” Fred reasoned, and I finally gave in. That’s when Mrs Weasley’s yells floated upstairs for dinner, and I cringed, knowing I would have to face Harry. Tension between us doesn’t usually last that long, but the chances of me catching him before dinner to apologise were dwindling the longer I spent sitting in the twins’ bedroom.

The boys grinned at me then apparated downstairs, and I rolled my eyes at the empty room. When I opened the door, I sent strains of magic out into the house to locate Harry, and my heart lurched when I found him in Sirius’ untouched bedroom.

I prodded him mentally to let him know I was coming, but I’m not sure he recognised it as his mind barely flinched. I knocked on Sirius’ door, when Harry opened it, eyes red-rimmed, I couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

“Harry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to throw it all at you, fuck, I was being so selfish, I know you don’t like all the Chosen One bollocks either. I’m so sorr-”

He cut me off as he wrapped his arms around me, and I melted into the gesture, gripping him fiercely. His voice, muffled by my shoulder, was shaky when he finally started speaking.

“Maeve, I don’t know why I threw the revenge thing in your face, everything with Snape, I mean, God, I am so sorry.”

I forgive him easily, and though his words still sting a little, I know there is complete truth behind them. If the situation with Snape was even a little different, then I would have attacked him as soon as I found out. But he’s a part of the Order, and technically trusted by Dumbledore, and is Draco’s godfather. Attacking him would create an unnecessary scene, and attract too much attention to me. Besides, Snape hasn’t yet linked me and the Walters – if he has to find out at some point, it needs to be with witnesses so I don’t spiral completely out of control.

***

The next day, Hermione and I had taken over the kitchen as a makeshift potion lab, and were working together on both the Wolfsbane potion for Remus and the newest batch of the Nutrition Potion.

Mrs Weasley had made a fuss last night at dinner about Hermione’s lack of appetite, and she bravely soldiered through a whole meal, but only to have a bit of a breakdown afterwards – entirely understandable, and I persuaded her to talk to Mrs Weasley about the issue. It took some convincing, but Molly took it in her stride and apologised for pushing her too far in front of everyone.

Today, she’d willingly given up the kitchen to our potions pursuits

With plenty of time to redo the Wolfsbane if all went wrong, and a quick morning trip to Diagon Alley for supplies and ingredients, we got to work. Wolfsbane was complicated enough to keep us busy, and Cassia had the entertainment of a variety of adults, though I was keeping mental tabs on her, making sure she didn’t reveal herself as a Legilimens.

Hermione took a great interest in the method of making the Nutrition potion as the Wolfsbane simmered.

“Maevey, how did you even come up with all this?” Hermione asked as she scanned over the ingredients, all prepared very precisely as I did before – I’m taking no chances. It’s got to be perfect before I give it to Hermione.

“Same way anyone else creates a potion, I guess. Trial and error,” I laugh, and Hermione rolls her eyes at me as she adds the first two ingredients to the cauldron.

As I’m checking on the Wolfsbane, the door bangs open, and I half expect Cassia to come running in, but instead, a black-robed man with a confused expression stands in the doorway.

“Professor Snape,” Hermione greets, ever polite, and I studiously ignore him. I’m not at school – I don’t have to be polite to the bastard. He can’t exactly give me detention during the holidays. “We’ve almost finished the Wolfsbane,” she continues, gesturing to where I’m standing, and I shoot daggers at her as Snape stalks over to inspect.

“Oh, ‘Mione, turn that flame down a little, please,” I say, looking over at the second cauldron. “And then we can probably add the next ingredient.”

Snape doesn’t find fault in the Wolfsbane, and his academic interest has been peaked as he surveyed the unknown combination of ingredients laid out on the table. Watching with wry amusement as his aura faded from being impressed at the Wolfsbane to embarrassment at not knowing what we were doing, I summoned the Lacewings and added a third of them to the cauldron.

Eventually his curiosity won out: “What are you brewing?”

Hermione glanced my way, and I gestured for her to explain. She did so, briefly, showing Snape my meticulous notes now that I had Hermione’s corrections and additions written in, and he scanned down them, unable to find fault in something he had no knowledge on.

“Why?” Snape asked finally, and Hermione faltered.

“I forget to eat when I’m studying – it stops me wrecking my body during exams,” I step in, my tone cool and expectant, waiting for the criticisms that would follow. Gratitude flowed out of Hermione, and I sent her a mental grin.

“And were you just planning on keeping this to-” As his words cut off, his hand gripped his forearm tightly, a stiffness overcoming his body and dark magic flowing into his magical signature. Despite my better judgement, whilst Hermione had been explaining the potion, I’d taken a silent route into his mind and had found his memories of the attack, and I removed the apparation point Lucius Malfoy had found to get into the Manor. On my way out, I added a layer of unnoticeable shields around anything resembling mine or Cassia’s Legilimency.

Snape might be good, but I’m taking no chances.

He doesn’t say a word as he walks abruptly out of the room, and I turn back to the potion, a silence falling over Hermione and I as we continued with the next stage. Snape may be a bastard, but being Voldemort’s unwilling –

No. He made his choice. He doesn’t deserve my sympathy. Not now, not ever.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your Kudos!
> 
> -Caity B xx


	28. Initiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: grief/revenge explored

“Do you, Maeve Anne Ellis, wish to join the fight against the Dark and help protect your fellow witches and wizards in battle by becoming a member of the Order of the Phoenix?”

_Walters. Maeve Anne Walters, damnit._

As I surveyed all the faces in front of me, I realised there was nowhere I'd rather be, no one I'd rather fight alongside. Lupin, with his permanently tired aura I had suspicions he’d been wearing for a long time, had a serious look on his face. Joining people into the Order had to be a painful experience for him; despite Tonks at his side, he was slumped into himself, shabby robes looking particularly worse for wear as the full moon had passed only last night. He had the Wolfsbane last night, mine and Hermione’s combined efforts to brew it for him, in leu of the last month where he nearly killed himself during the transformation. Tonks herself was her usual bubbly self, if a little less constrained than her teaching personality, Hufflepuff-yellow hair and a Weird Sisters band t-shirt, marking her a pretty different sight from the rest of the Order. 

The older Weasleys stood in a crowd: Fred and George with twin proud expressions, Molly's face a mixture of concern and pride, Arthur looking particularly excited, and Charlie, who was visiting for the holiday and had been officially inducted in person only a week previously, had an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. Not that I knew Charlie well, but I’ve met him a few times at the Weasley’s place, and then for the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Neither Bill nor Percy were present, but amid the crowds, I couldn't bring myself to care for _more_ people to be here. Everyone’s attention was already on me, I don’t need more eyes staring at me with renewed hope as the Order grows and grows.

McGonagall, Flitwick and Hermione, having been made a full member less than twenty minutes ago, had similarly serious expressions; noting Snape's absence was a bit of a relief. It made what I was going to do next all the easier. Dumbledore was equally absent, but I could hardly expect him to be here. In my mind, he was always raised on some sort of pedestal; he probably shouldn’t be, but he’s _Albus Dumbledore._ There is no arguing with him, nor questioning him. Kingsley stood off to one side, quietly observing and ready to intervene when required, as always.

"Ellis?" Moody asked, a flicker of worry in his aura, as he recaptured my attention. His eye was a little concerned at my hesitation, and I set my face in a (hopefully) confident expression. The magical eye surveyed me, presumably searching for any chance I’m not really me. Well, in a sense, I’m not who they think I am, so he’s right to be suspicious.

"If I'm joining, I need this to be real," I start, and expressions and auras around the room change uncertainly. I take a deep breath. "My name is Maeve Anne Walters, and if I'm to join the Order, this is how I will join." 

Stunned expressions litter the room. Only the sounds of breathing and the crackling fire fill the room, and I look at the floor. _Too bold, Walters, too bold._

"Do you, Maeve Anne Walters, wish to join the Order of the Phoenix?" Moody asks gruffly, and a shot of pride bursts in me at the sound of my name, my real name, in any official capacity. 

"Yes, I do." 

"Do you, Maeve Anne Walters, swear to keep the organisation's existence a secret and do your best to protect all of its members?" 

I hesitate as Snape flashes across my mind. "Yes, I do."

Moody sticks out his hand for me to shake, and I grip it without a trace of hesitation. Fred and George let off one of their indoor fireworks, much to Molly's scolding when they did it earlier for Hermione. 

"Welcome, Maeve Walters, to the Order." 

The simple words filled me with indescribable pleasure; finally, a Walters was coming to the fight against the people who wiped out so much of my family. 

Hermione was the first to break ranks and hug me, and the rest of the tension in the room dissolved into laughter and good-natured teasing as Molly advanced on the twins with a murderous look in her eyes. 

"That was brave, Maevey," Hermione said quietly as we watched Charlie attempt to stop his mother's warpath on the twins, but quickly gave up and joined us over on the other side of the room. 

I just dropped a bombshell on them all, and yet no one is demanding answers, no one throwing me out for my Legilimency, nor my parents’ lack of action in the earlier parts of the war. All of the worries that kept me awake last night when I first contemplated the idea of revealing my truth amounted to nothing.

“So, Walters? That’s news,” Charlie said, no trace of judgement in his voice, or aura. “Legilimens?” he asks, and I nod. Thankfully, he doesn’t mention the attack – I’m only going to explain what I know once, and it’s not going to be just to Charlie Weasley. When the meeting starts properly later, I’ll talk then, and give everyone the answers they deserve.

He gave me a good-natured smile as Hermione asked him about the dragons, and launched into a detailed explanation of one of the new dragons they'd rescued recently, a Hungarian Horntail that was very nearly attacked by dragon-hunters in its home country. 

When I caught Remus staring, I excused myself from the dragon talk and followed him out of the room. He took me to a sort-of second living room, much smaller than the first one we'd all gathered in before, and sat gently down on the arm of a sofa. 

He just stared at me for a long while, his emotional aura flickering back and forth between anger, sadness and regret. 

"You have your mother's gifts, don't you?" he asked, finally, and I nodded. 

I'd been one of the first to figure out that Lupin was a werewolf in third year, not by any sort of clever thinking or keeping track of time, but the sheer terror in his aura the day that he found out Snape had set us an essay on werewolves had confirmed what I thought. From the first day I met him on the train, I had my suspicions, but I never wanted to draw attention to it for him, nor my ability to read his mind. I submitted that essay to Lupin himself, despite the assurance from him we didn't need to, and I still remember exactly what I'd written. 

_A werewolf can be anyone, any magical person can be subjected to be turned. That doesn't make them lesser of a witch or wizard, and nor does it reduce the rights they have to jobs, family, a stable life. Despite that there's a stereotypical danger associated with them, if there were a werewolf in our midst at Hogwarts, I'd tell him that he (or she) doesn't have to be afraid of anyone using it against him - he's the best Defence professor we've had so far, and the majority of the class will never figure it out anyway, even if the evidence was shoved under their noses and written in fluorescent ink._

_If I was to speak to a werewolf right now, I'd tell him that none of the abuse he gets is deserved and if it were in my power, I would do anything to help to suppress the pain of the wolf, and the transformation. I would tell he deserves happiness like everyone else and shouldn't push people away, because even should he have had close friends in the past, he deserves to find someone now to help. It's not a solo fight. This isn't something to face alone._

Judging by Remus' expression, he was thinking back to that essay too, and he let out a shaky breath. 

“You knew right from day one, didn’t you?” he asks, and I nod. “And it was you who found me on Christmas day that year, and then you found me in the forest during the moon before last when I was injured?” I nod again. “Shit, Maeve, no wonder I thought it was Maggie,” he breathed, and I managed a laugh.

“Remus, I meant every word of that essay I wrote in third year, and I stand by all my actions since then.” I cross the room and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry for invading your mind without your knowing, but I didn’t have much of a handle on my Legilimency back then, and I’m not sure I could have helped it.”

Remus turns to me in disbelief. Exhaustion lines his features.

"Admittedly, I didn't make it very difficult - after Harry got the map, it was on my mind constantly." With a sly smile, I tell him I knew that already, and he barks out a laugh. When we both fall silent, he exudes a nervous energy, and I nudge him lightly. 

"What's got you worried?" Remus' lips curve upward slightly, and he looks intensely at me. 

“I knew your mother pretty well back at Hogwarts; we were in the same year, and house, and she, well, she was one of my best friends outside the Marauders.” Remus’ gaze didn’t falter as he talked about my mother, and I feel a well of guilt swell inside me. “She knew my secret before the first full moon had even happened, accidentally or on purpose, I don’t know. Even at eleven, she was one of the most powerful Legilimens I’ve ever met. She was also Lily’s best friend.”

He looks at me with scrutinising eyes. “You don’t look much like her, but your personality is so much alike. She was so brave and head-strong, about as stubborn as you are too,” Remus smiled. “She-”

“Remus stop,” I blurt out, and my hands are shaking as I ball them into fists. “Before you say anything else, you have to know - I have to say it. She was so sorry, so completely wrecked after what happened to the Potters. She felt guilty about it all the time, and then she couldn’t do anything to help Sirius but she knew it wasn’t him, knew he could never have done that.”

I find myself crying and Remus pulls me down onto the sofa beside him, and I lean pathetically into him. “She always felt guilty that she didn’t see Pettigrew’s weakness, his guilt, and she never let herself forgive herself.”

“It wasn’t Maggie’s fault. It was Pettigrew’s fault, no one else’s,” Remus assured me, looking at me and noting how much I was shaking, and the lack of colour in my face. “Hey, none of this is down to you, Maeve. You were a baby when it happened, not even a year old.”

Remus’ own tears drip into my hair as I curl into him. I wonder for a second if he’s remembering holding my mother this way. I know my mother had eyes for another during her school years, but she was always powerful enough to block it from me. She certainly didn’t love my father when they got married, but I know she learned to love him, and he learned to love her.

Margaret Walters. My mother. My beautiful, sweet, loving mother, a Legilimens more powerful than is good, so powerful she was vulnerable. The year before the attack, I remember our security increasing tenfold at the house, the majority of the family moving in together for protection. Living with my aunts and uncles and cousins had been a dream; I'd been too young to understand it was out of necessity to try and dissuade an attack from the Death Eaters. That many Legilimens all in one space would be a nightmare to try and attack, but apparently, it was possible.

She'd been friends with Lily Evans - that much I'd known already. But knowing Remus well enough to know his secret... 

The tears leaking down my face fell at a steady pace, despite how unsteady my body felt. I was rocking back and forth in my seat, silently failing to control my breathing. Now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to keep the secrets from dripping off my lips. I’m not even sure this is for Remus’ benefit – I just need to say it, get the words off my chest.

“When she was murdered, her last thoughts were about you all, the Marauders and Lily. She hated that after everything, she completely back away from you, Remus. She never forgave herself for that, either.”

Remus’ arms shook a little as he wrapped them around me. “Maeve,” he started softly. “This guilt wasn’t Maggie’s to carry, and it certainly isn’t yours.”

I managed a watery smile as I felt some of the tension lift from my sagging shoulders. The secrets are drowning me and lifting some of them does a world of good to my mental health. Silence stretches as I try and calm down, and Remus shifts a little, the question at the front of his mind.

“Invisibility spells,” I say in answer, and Remus starts, before rolling his eyes at me, though I can’t ignore the upset undertones at the uses of my family gifts. “The attackers didn’t see the magical signature, and since Maeve Walters was never officially registered with the Ministry, they had no way of knowing I even existed.”

There was a knock at the door, and two identical faces peered around it. “Sorry to interrupt, but they want to start the meeting,” George announces, and Remus and I stand, and I cast a wandless cleaning charm to clear up the tear-stains on my face. Fred pulls me into a hug, and I manage a giggle as he pokes me between my ribs in a spot he knows to be ticklish.

The noise was apparently enough to agitate someone, and a shrill scream erupted from the hallway, and collectively we groaned. That portrait of the late Mrs Black is possibly the worst part of this house without a question. Not that I would want to suggest it, but with all the protections of Walters Manor, maybe it would be a good place for the Order to use as a safe house. 

"MORE BLOOD TRAITORS IN MY HOUSE! MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS! WHAT DID THE NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK DO TO DESERVE SUCH A -" she cut off abruptly as Kingsley covered the portrait with a silencing charm. 

"It won't last forever but it should keep her quiet for a while," he sighed, probing the magic surrounding the portrait. "Wish we could take the thing down, put it in the Black family vault. Dear old Walburga was apparently good at permanent sticking charms."

Kingsley ushered us into the kitchen, and we took the remaining seats, surrounded by the Order. This time, to my dismay, Snape was here too. Any demands for explanation were not going to go down well.

“I think we’ve all got questions for you, Maeve,” Molly said as I sat down, and I smile guiltily at her. “Maeve and her secrets; is there more than you’re hiding?” she asks in her motherly no-nonsense tone, and I can’t formulate a lie quick enough to be convincing. Around the table, people look at me in concern and disbelief, but I shake it off, staring into my hands and letting the silence stretch.

"We need to decide what our next move is," Alastor Moody started into the silence from the head of the table, skimming quickly over the issues of my past. "Voldemort isn't pulling any punches; there's been numerous more attacks than the ones reported by the Prophet; the Ministry is trying to avoid wide-scale panic, with questionable success." 

His magical eye surveyed us all, stopping only briefly on both Hermione and me. 

"I want to hear from the new recruits - what can we do to keep people on our side, and how can Potter potentially help?" 

Hermione and I exchanged glances, and I nod for her to explain first. 

"Harry's eager to join the fight, Ron too, and though he's not technically of age yet, he's faced Voldemort more times than any of us." Tension hung heavy in the room at the unspoken addition to Hermione's words. The door creaked behind me, no doubt one of the younger Weasleys trying to listen in, and before I could turn, Moody's eye was on me, the door slamming shut with a wordless spell from Charlie. 

"Anything to add, Walters? Anything you could glean from Potter's mind, if I’m to assume you’re Legilimency is up to the Walters usual standard?" 

"Walters?" An icy chill washed over me as Snape's nasty voice filled over the room. Turning to face him, I fixed my eyes on him with a confident, and challenging, expression.

“That’s me. Anything to say, Professor?” I snap, and his already-pale face whitens further. He leans back in his chair, a move very unlike Snape, and for a brief moment, I think he might pass out.

I know even without checking that he's seeing the same scene in his mind that I am. His laughter, my mother's taunts in her last moments, the green lights slashing around the room, his own version of a cutting curse used in anger, the last-second wandless Patronus sending a message, her lifeless body slumped to the floor. I can't even bring myself to waver in my anger to him. 

The rest of the room is still, too still. Hermione tries for my attention, but I brush it off. 

"I'll be honest, I'm surprised you didn't figure it out sooner. Somewhat disappointing for someone who calls himself a spy. Can’t figure out a secret when it’s staring you in the face." My voice is taunting, mocking, hiding the depths of the anger I have for him, and Snape straightens in defiance.

“I’d love to know if anyone else knows of your involvement. Ooh, did you tell Dumbledore? I bet you did, and you wanted it kept a secret, didn’t you?”

“Maeve,” Hermione warns, and I ignore her again.

“Walters, what is going on?” Kingsley asks in his calming voice. I slump back in my own chair, wand ditched on the table. It’s fine; I don’t need it anyway.

I stare at Snape, waiting for him to stand up for himself, for him to speak up about not compromising his position with the Death Eaters. When he doesn’t, I scoff at his cowardice.

“I was there, you know,” I start quietly. Snape’s eyes are on mine in a second, pain radiating out his body. “Was it just your stupid pride you needed to conserve for how much she messed around with you at school, or did you truly hate her that much to kill her like that?”

“Maeve, stop,” Hermione repeated, and I barely flinched as her wand levelled on me.

“To check I’m getting the right end of this,” Charlie started, looking nervously between Snape and me. “Severus was part of the attack on Walter Manor?” I nod. Hermione’s wand is still aimed at me, and in all the years of friendship, I can’t remember a single occasion where she’s pulled her wand on me with genuine intent. Briefly surveying her emotions, I know she’s deadly serious.

“Lucius Malfoy coordinated the attack,” Snape begins, his voice lacking any emotion. “Insisted I was there because of our history of hating each other at school. I couldn’t get out of it.”

“You could have just used the killing curse,” I mutter, “At least that, but no. And when she shielded your Cruciatus, she wounded your pride, and that couldn’t happen, of course not.”

Lupin drew his wand on Snape over the table, anger overpowering his fatigue from the moon. Anger crashes off him in ferocious waves, and I have to grip my chair to physically stable myself from such powerful emotions. Without moving, I disarm him, wand flying out of his hand.

“Remus, no,” I say softly, and he looks at me in disbelief. I force my lips into a wry smile and I nod my confirmation at the wandless magic. I’m not sure if that’s a talent my mother possessed, or if it was, if she ever told Remus about it. Maybe it’s a first to the Walters family too.

Tilting my head at Hermione, more specifically her wand that’s still pointed in my face, I sigh, my own overconfidence brash. “’Mione, just stop. You know you won’t win.”

She glares at me, and with a roll of my eyes I disarm her too.

“I can’t believe you’re actually defending him,” I say quietly, “Why are you defending him?” Vulnerability is leaching into my tone, and I hate it, hate myself for not keeping my voice even, neutral.

Hermione doesn’t have an answer for that. “I watched as he murdered her, letting her bleed out on the floor at his own nasty little curse. Why does he deserve defence?”

“Everyone deserves a defence, Maeve,” Arthur reprimands gently, and I feel the emotion start draining out of me, in true Walters fashion, until my face is scarily blank. Legilimency and emotionlessness are often intertwined, especially with the Walters way of training and honing that raw Legilimency skill.

“Sirius didn’t get a trial, and he was innocent. Snape isn’t innocent, and yet he walks free.” Remus flinches at my cold words, and Tonks lays a careful hand on his under the table. A stabilising presence is enough to send a wave of calm back into Remus’ exhausted aura.

“I would hardly call it _free_ ,” Snape says icily, finding his voice, a hand subconsciously resting over the Dark Mark on his forearm in the same motion Draco had made when he thought about his parents forcing the Mark on him. I send out a wave of mental magic to break down his first line of mental shields as I stare at him. He blanches.

Hermione glares at me when she realises what I did, and Fred puts a hand on my arm, steadyingly. The anger in me won’t calm at a simple touch, and I shake his hand off me, not wanting something to go wrong, and me end up accidentally hurting him. 

I stand, too jittery with anger to sit still. “If you ever come near Cassia,” I address Snape, and he flinches away from my tone. “I will break down every single one of those mental shields you have that you think will protect you and remind you of exactly why you were so afraid of my mother. Then, if I share all those memories with every single person sat at this table, we will see if they will still work with you. I doubt even Dumbledore has enough sympathy for what you’ve got hiding in the corners of your mind.” Horror flicks over his face, and before he can retaliate, I summon my own wand, realising my mistake of giving my magic a clear channel to escape through.

At my anger, the uncontrolled bursts of magic at my heightened emotions, the wand is reacting of its own accord, and I can’t deign to make myself look like a child after this kind of outburst. Slamming the door open, Mrs Black’s portrait breaks the silencing charm, and with a wordless burst of magic, it silences, and clatters to the floor, the sticking charm apparently broken.

Refusing to look back, I head into the sitting room, light a magical Floo fire and step into it, calling the name of the first place that comes to mind.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Caity B xx


	29. Absence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none I think :)

It took a little while for someone to break the silence after the words _Walter Manor_ echoed into the room. Moody had to leave to shut up Walburga Black’s portrait from her new position on the floor at the sound of the Walter name (blood traitors aren’t welcome, according to her, which isn’t a shock to anyone, considering her treatment of Sirius, and the regular stream of insults towards the Weasleys), but returned and didn’t dare make a sound.

“We are never going to find that Manor,” Remus Lupin clarified to the Order, reluctance in his voice to admit it. “It’s got some of the most intense defensive wards I’ve ever seen, maybe even more so than Hogwarts. I only went once, but the security measures her family put me through were beyond intense.”

Remus did his best to supress the memory of his first and only visit to Walters Manor – Maeve had been just less than a year old, and it was three weeks after the attack at Godric’s Hollow. That memory was far too painful to relive in front of the majority of the Order.

But Maggie’s face kept swimming to the front of his mind, the worn lines of motherhood sleeplessness, a tiny baby Maeve in her arms as Maggie tried and failed to push her emotions aside during her apology. _Apology._ Margaret Walters had apologised for what happened – Legilimens often feel responsible for when things go wrong, especially with people they’re close to, and this was no exception. It had killed Maggie to learn the news of Sirius’ supposed betrayal, and Maggie refused to believe it for as long as she lived. _But she never found out she was right,_ Remus thought gruffly, and fixed his gaze on Snape, angrily blaming him in truth for what happened to her, as the conversations around him continued.

Tonks tilted her head slightly, surveying Remus’ face briefly. “Can we not just follow her through the grate?”

Hermione shook her head. “If I know Maeve, she will already have blocked the grate to anyone she doesn’t want there. Maybe those wards did that already.”

Members of the Order all looked at each other, a little stumped. They didn’t know what to do but Maeve’s wishes for Snape had been clear enough. She didn’t want them to attack him; Remus took that message particularly hard.

Snape wanted to sneak out of the room, disapparate, but Lupin was watching the spy far too closely for him to ever get out seamlessly. That, and, he wasn’t sure where he would go. Back to Hogwarts, perhaps. Even being subjected to Albus’ Christmas decorations was better than being surrounded by the guilt he felt for that night. Margaret Walters may have spent years at Hogwarts being a complete bitch to him, but she had apologised in their seventh year, and he had killed her in return.

It was at that moment that the door burst open, Cassia Walters running in with a terrified look on her face. She scanned the room methodically, finding someone she recognised, and threw herself at Hermione. Harry and Ron came in soon afterward, accusatory looks on their faces.

Hermione took the girl in her arms, her first thought being a wonder at how physically strong Maeve must be to hold her up for the significant lengths of time she’d witnessed without question or complaint.

“I can’t feel Maevey.” Cassia’s words were clear in meaning to the young Gryffindors – they all knew about the psychic bond the sisters shared, but the rest of the Order were lacking in that knowledge. On noticing this, Hermione briefly explained. Moody appeared impressed at the little girl’s ability to take to such powerful magic, but then again, she was a Walters. Walters were practically born with the knowledge and control of their Legilimency. And Maeve had been teaching her in the limited free time she’d had with her sister at Hogwarts to shape the raw skill.

Remus was hardly surprised; he remembered quite clearly how Margaret and Matilda had had a mental bond that they used to their utmost advantage whenever they had the chance. Hogwarts even went to the extremes of keeping Maggie under exam conditions during Matilda’s OWLs and NEWTs. But he dreaded the thought that she might be able to see into him right now, with all these thoughts about the poor child’s mother in the front of his mind, so easily accessible.

Cassia couldn’t be reassured, and she swept the room with an unsettling gaze on the face of such a young girl.

“We’re going to find Maeve and bring her back,” Molly assured her, but Cassia shook her head. If anyone could have found Maeve, it would have been Cassia – she’s as much a Walters as Maeve is. Molly was deeply unsettled – since the summer when Ron rescued Harry with the infamous flying car, she considered all of Ron’s friends her extended children. Finding out that one of those children had been hiding something this _intense_ the whole time was rather unsettling on Molly’s part. Maeve was always the loose cannon and she was unpredictable at best, but she had her heart in the right place, almost always.

“Maevey doesn’t want to be found; so, she won’t be found,” she stated plainly, far too wise for her age, and far too level-headed for the fear the youngest Walters was feeling.

Order members shuffled uncomfortably as they realised the truth in the child’s words. If a Legilimens, and a skilled one at that, wants to go into hiding, there are very few ways that they can be found, none of them legal.

“What the hell did you do to make her react like that?” Harry accused, his eyes zeroing in on the Potions Master.

“She revealed herself as a Walters,” Hermione said quietly, rocking the youngest Walters in her arms to help calm her. Harry blinked slowly, recovering his senses faster than Ron, who stood staring blankly at the Order members.

“What did you say?” Harry’s glare fixed on Severus, and the spy couldn’t bring himself to back away from a Potter’s anger, despite all the guilt he harboured for the attack.

“There wouldn’t have been an issue if I was aware of the situation before it was thrown on me without warning,” Severus hissed, hating that he had been left in the dark. Admittedly, the rest of the Order had only found out minutes earlier, but his tardiness after a summoning from Voldemort had put him out of touch with the most recent development.

Remus’ own anger flared at the evasion on Severus’ part, but he knew he couldn’t expect much more of a spy. Not letting the feuds resurface from their school years, and there were plenty of them close to coming back, especially those that involved Maggie, Remus let the exhaustion from the moon take over his mind.

Harry recognised the intense stare Cassia was using, and quickly interrupted, bringing Cassia’s attention to him. The same intense look Maeve gets, when she’s trying to sort through people’s minds and find something of use. Harry had only seen her use it once, on Snape, and it was somewhat terrifying.

“Cassia, you know Maeve doesn’t like it when you do that,” he reminded the girl, and Cassia slumped a little, eyes fixed on Remus. The adults shifted as they realised what Harry meant. The knowledge that their minds could be read by a six-year-old was deeply unsettling for the covert organisation.

“I’m sorry, we can’t have non-Order members in here during an official meeting,” McGonagall interrupted softly, and continued, “Misters Potter and Weasley, and Miss Walters need to leave. We will find Maeve. We will.”

Cassia refused to let go of Hermione when she tried to set her down, and when Harry came over to take her from Hermione’s arms, she screamed at him, startling everyone. Tears streamed down her face as she clung to Hermione fiercely.

“I’m staying! No one said my name; I need to find Maevey!”

The thought clicked in Fred before it did with anyone else. Hermione carried the young girl out of the room, and when the door closed behind them, he voiced his idea.

“I don’t think Cassia knows she is a Walters – Maeve was probably trying to protect her, and I would guess Cassia thinks herself an Ellis.”

McGonagall nodded at the idea, knowing he was probably right. Snape felt downright green – his time as a spy meant terrible things weighed on his conscience, but this … seeing Margaret Walters’ youngest daughter screaming to find the only family she had left was torturous, as much so as the Cruciatus. A family pain he has caused, and now he would see the repercussions of on a regular basis.

There was no way of them all knowing how intricate the web of lies Maeve had weaved to keep herself and her sister safe. Breaking it all down now at the first sign of Maeve’s absence would be an insult, and they didn’t know when (and it was a firm _when_ in the Order’s mind) she would return.

They ran out every possible way of finding Maeve, but found nothing that was feasible – no one, not even Remus could begin to find Walters Manor, and he was the only one present, other than Severus who hadn’t spoken a single word since Maeve’s threats.

“Severus, how did Lucius Malfoy get into the Manor the first time?” McGonagall asked, and the spy shook his head.

“Lucius didn’t give me that information, we apparated to the edge of the grounds and created a hole in one of the northern walls to get inside,” Severus supplied tonelessly.

Molly raised an eyebrow. “So, you could apparate there again?” Molly had many choice words for the spy, and her anger was rising the longer one of her extended children was out of her reach.

Severus shifted uncomfortably. “I believe Miss Walters had removed that memory from my mind already; I can’t be sure when.” The nugget of hope he had offered the Order just flickered out and died; any of the youngest members of the Order were fiercely protected by the older members, because of what they knew to be the outcome of a war like this.

Eventually, the Order wrapped up the meeting, declaring the search for Maeve impossible. Severus was the first one to leave the room, and Hermione followed him out, before he could get to the apparation point by the front door.

When Severus noticed the Gryffindor following him, he stiffened considerably, turning around in the hallway to look down at Hermione. A pained expression crossed his face at the concern in hers.

“What do you want, Miss Granger? I assume this isn’t about the Potions homework,” he snapped, and she stared right back at him unflinchingly. It was unnerving to the older man.

“What else did Maeve do?” she asked, with an analytical glance across his face.

“Why did you defend me?” he shoots back, building up his mental shields as the conversation continued. He could see Hermione had decent enough Legilimency skills – nothing compared to Maeve’s of course – and without the first line of shields, she wouldn’t have trouble reading what was there. Not that Hermione was the kind of witch to use Legilimency as an attack.

Hermione didn’t falter like she always had when Snape called her out in class. “No one deserves to be invaded like that; it’s not like you wanted to be a part of that attack,” she explained logically. Hermione knew Maeve would forgive her when they got a chance to talk about it, but until Maeve returned, that conversation couldn’t happen. She didn’t think there was any point regretting her own actions, though it wouldn’t stop her feeling guilty for her friend’s actions.

“Miss Walters deserves to hate me, but I cannot reverse my actions, Miss Granger,” he said, unable to stop how gentle his voice came out.

“Hermione, please. I’m part of the Order now,” she managed to say, a wave of pity lapping into her mind for all the awful things Severus has been a part of for almost as long as she had been alive.

In a burst of misguided confidence, Hermione reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to suffer alone,” she said softly, and he stared at her hand in a kind of confusion. In a few seconds, he came to himself, and shook off her hand, striding down the hallway and apparating away without another word.

***

Harry awoke to a sharp clicking on the glass of his and Ron’s bedroom. He pulled back the curtains swiftly, and was shocked to see what looked like a buzzard, with an envelope attached to its leg.

Eagerly opening the window, the letter was dropped through, and the bird flew off as soon as its job was complete. Harry ripped off the unfamiliar seal, and three letters fell out of the same envelope, with three different audiences intended.

Each in a cursive script Harry instantly recognised to be Maeve’s, the letters were addressed to _Cassia_ , _the Order_ and _My Friends_.

The one for the Order baited at his curiosity, but he first unfolded the parchment addressed to _My Friends._

_Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny,_

_If this letter has found you, my little experiment with the buzzard worked. I hope it did, but I’m not convinced I’ll know, because I don’t know if Hedwig will find me. If you want to reply at all, which I understand you might not._

_I apologise for running out without saying anything, or any explanation of to where I was going. I’m assuming the Order figured out I took the Floo grate to the manor, but since none of you have either come through my fireplace, nor knocked down the front gate, you can’t find me. Which is entirely intentional, but I will be back soon._

_As I’m writing this it is December 19 th. So, two days after I left. I will be back on Christmas Eve, though I’m not yet sure how I’ll get there. I’ve got a few days to figure it out. _

_I saw red when Snape came in, and admittedly, I handled things in a very shitty way. But, rationality wasn’t high on my priority list. It is now, and I fully know I will never trust Snape. However, this is a war, and you have to work with people you don’t like. Slight understatement but sure._

_When you, Harry, called me out for wanting revenge against Snape for what he did to my family, you weren’t wrong, and it only took one meeting for me to show I’m just as dangerous as everyone knows Legilimens can be._

_Thank you, Hermione, Fred, George, for not letting me do anything stupid. I appreciate it._

_I’m planning on letting up on my connection with Cassia soon – right now though, I can’t have her inside my head. It’s no place for a six-year-old, and I don’t want to scar her for life. Though I know how that must feel for her, the absence, and I truly hope that even if you’re pissed at me, you’ll still look after her. If I were to ask only one thing of you all, it would be to look after her when I’m unable to. Please._

_I’ll see you on Christmas Eve,_

_Maeve A Walters x_

Harry read the letter three times, before rousing Ron, and heading off to wake the other addressees of the letter. Ron barely shifted until Maeve’s name was mentioned, and then he was awake like a shot, reading the letter quickly. Harry had disappeared to fetch the others, and they all congregated in their room.

“At least she wrote to us this time,” Ginny grumbled as Harry finished reading the letter aloud. Ron elbowed his sister, and Fred and George shared a look none of the rest of them could quite decipher. They had an undeniable soft spot for the Walters, and loved her like a sister. But she was making it very difficult when she kept so many secrets, kept dropping out of their lives without a word of warning.

“I know we haven’t technically tried floo-ing to the manor, but I think we should,” Harry said emphatically, and Ron supressed a laugh.

“Someone should, yes, but not you, Mr _Diagonally_ ,” Ron grinned, and the twins cracked up.

Hermione was the most hesitant for this plan, though she didn’t voice it. Instead, she picked up the other two letters, and read over the addressees. “We should be calling the Order together. It’s the twentieth today and we shouldn’t delay in case it’s time-sensitive,” Hermione said logically, and she handed the Order letter to the twins, who disappeared downstairs.

Harry, whilst knowing he should be doing something, couldn’t force himself into action. Maeve and her disappearances were killing him, and after their recent argument, he felt they were already on slightly unstable terms. _At least she’ll come back for Cassia,_ Harry thought wryly. _She wouldn’t come back for any other reason._

Cassia was with Tonks and Remus in one of the many living rooms, and Cassia, in Maeve’s absence, was difficult to help. She had been refusing to eat properly, and only after Molly intervened did she sit nicely at the dinner-table with everyone else. Molly treated Cassia with utmost care, even moreso than she did with her own children when they were growing up. Cassia’s Legilimency was an unknown variable to the Weasley Matriarch, and she didn’t have any experience regarding a mind-reading child.

Tonks had been a massive help at keeping her entertained. The metamorphmagus clearly interested Cassia, and that had been a rare thing in the past couple of days. Like her mother and her sister, she knew Remus wasn’t a normal wizard, but because of her age, she couldn’t quite figure it out. With the bluntness only a small child can manage, she’d asked him outright during lunch why he was different, and Remus had choked on what he was drinking.

Cassia hadn’t been perturbed by the explanation. “If Maevey trusts you, I trust you,” were the only words she’d said on the subject, and then she’d gone back to picking at her food without eating any of it.

Ginny had been the one to give Cassia the letter from Maeve, and Tonks read it aloud with the young girl sitting in her lap.

_My dearest Cassia,_

_I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive me but I had to go home and sort some things out._

_Please let the others look after you; they’re truly good people and they will be there for you, I’m sure of it._

_I want to go and get Aunt Hannah; do you remember her? If the Order allows it, I will bring her back with me for Christmas._

_Try not to read anyone’s mind. I know it’s tricky, and I’ve been slacking on your training, which I intend to sort out in the new year. For now, try and enjoy yourself in my absence and keep everyone’s spirits up like I know you can. Be my little princess – maybe try showing them some stories, like we always do together?_

_I’ll let you back in soon, I promise._

_I love you, my darling,_

_Your Maevey xx_

Cassia was crying by the end of the letter; Tonks hugged the girl close. The letter slipped from her fingers, and words jumped out from the carpeted floor at Remus. The similarities in the handwriting to Maggie’s was something Remus couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed after marking her papers for a year, although it wasn’t exactly something he had been looking out for.

Cassia was much more like her mother than Maeve was in terms of appearance – the same blonde hair, the shape of the young girl’s face, even some of her mannerisms, though it was beyond Remus how she managed to pick them up.

“What kind of stories does Maeve mean, Cassia?” Remus asked gently, lifting up the girl’s chin to look into her blue eyes. “Can you show me?” Attempting a distraction would surely be good for her, right? At least, with Remus’ little knowledge of children, that’s what he thought.

Cassia’s watery eyes met Remus’ kind ones, and she gently lifted her hand to his face, resting it on his cheek. It took all of Remus’ strength not to gasp and flinch away as his vision was taken over by a familiar scene.

The edge of the Hogwarts lake broke out. Maeve was standing on the edge of the lake, looking out across the clear water. On a closer look from Remus, Cassia is nestled in her arms, and the two girls are speaking, eyes not to each other, but out in front.

Remus’ heart almost stopped when he saw Maggie, in a silvery ghost-like form, smiling at her daughters. She was a little older than she had been when Remus saw her last, and there was none of the weight of the Potter’s attack resting on her shoulders.

“Maeve, you know you have to be here for your sister; keep up the family name and traditions,” Maggie said sternly, so different from how Remus knew her.

Cassia reached out, as if to touch her mother, and Maeve caught her hand as it hovered only a couple of inches from her form.

“Cassia, you can’t, Mother will only be here for a little longer.” Imaginary-Maeve’s words confused Remus a little, but he shelved away that confusion for later as Cassia pulled him out of the vision with wide eyes.

Even with all his years at Hogwarts with Maggie, Remus had never seen her do anything like that; it was a new unknown in the realms of Legilimens. But then again, Maeve’s wandless magical ability was equally unknown. Unless it was something else Maggie kept a secret – unfortunately, that didn’t entirely surprise Remus when the thought occurred.

Maggie had promised him in fifth year after she confronted him about knowing his secret that she would be an open book for him and the rest of the Marauders. But, in Remus’ experience, that didn’t necessarily mean she would have kept to it. Her moral code was grey at best, and Remus hadn’t encountered a line she wouldn’t cross whilst they were at school.

Cassia looked curiously at Remus as she caught flashes of her mother in Remus’ mind. Quickly, he withdrew the thoughts from the front of his mind, and the welcome distraction of the twins’ calling them to a last-second Order meeting was plenty enough to get his school years out of his mind.

When Remus and Tonks entered the kitchen, the room was fuller that it had been the previous day during the initiation. Flitwick had returned to Hogwarts, but Snape was present, and Percy and Bill Weasley too. Fleur Delacour, Bill claimed, had stayed at home because she wasn’t feeling too great, but Remus guessed it had something more to do with Molly and Fleur’s constant arguing that left the French blonde far away from Grimmauld place.

_The Order,_

_Firstly, I apologise for storming out of my first official meeting; I hope that given the circumstances you can forgive me, however if not, I fully support your decision. Also, this isn’t a security risk – anyone who tries to read it will be unable to unless they’ve been inducted._

_Secondly, to Severus, the threat on your mind was unfair and unjust and the reason why people fear Natural Legilimens. I will not expose any of your private memories to anyone._

_Thirdly, I have patched up the wards at Walters Manor so that hopefully it remains as secure as it always was before the attack – if for whatever reason we have to relocate out of Grimmauld Place, I will offer the Manor as a new base, however, only if strictly necessary._

_Writing out my explanation is an easier way to go, and I want it here for you all to read before I return to Grimmauld Place to see my sister. Before the attack, my mother (Margaret Walters) put invisibility spells around me which concealed my magical aura and presence from the Death Eaters. I don’t know how she caught wind of the attack before it happened, but she did, and it saved my life._

_The technical details of the attack I can spare you however my mother sent a Patronus charm with a message to the Ministry of Magic, and the Aurors showed up a while (I couldn’t tell you how long) after the Death Eaters left. I followed them out, particularly following Kingsley Shacklebolt back to the Ministry by hanging onto his robes to Apparate with him. Without any refined skill of my own, I couldn’t remove the invisibility charms, but as my mother died they weakened enough that my magic could be detected, and eventually Shacklebolt removed the charms, and I was sent to the Magical Registry Office._

_I’m not proud to say that I removed all the involved Aurors’ memories of the event. I was terrified, and ten, and knew only how to be a Walters. Two witches at the Magical Registry Office set me up with a Muggleborn identity and status, then put me in with a host Muggle family through the Muggle fostercare system. I believe Dumbledore knew all this a long while ago._

_If Kingsley wishes, I can return his memories of the process, since he now knows of my existence as a Walters anyway._

_I will return to Grimmauld Place on December 24 th. _

_Thank you_

_M. A. Walters_

The Order was completely silent for a long while after George finished reading the letter aloud. Kingsley stood abruptly and walked out the room, his usual calm long gone. Maeve was only ten when she took his memories – considering now he’s one of the highest-up Aurors, it’s unsurprisingly unnerving for him.

Snape’s face hadn’t changed whilst George read the letter; Maeve’s apology echoed the one her mother had given him all those years previously, and he didn’t know how to process the similarities.

Tonks headed out of the room after Kingsley to try and rationalise and calm the Auror. Seeing Kingsley rattled was new for everyone, and quite unpredictable. Maybe he’d do Maeve some damage when she returned, or maybe he’d just want his memories back and never to speak to her again. It was too unknown.

“Damnit Walters,” Fred muttered to himself, and his mother whacked him around the ears.

“You knew about this, didn’t you?” Bill asked, reading his brothers perfectly, as he always had been able to do. Molly’s eyes widened at neither of the twins could come up with a compelling answer.

“Look, Maeve told us when she was a second year, before anyone else knew. We couldn’t tell anyone else,” George explained, and Bill sighed. “It’s not like she was hurting anyone by not telling them. She was protecting herself,” George burst out to his disapproving brothers, looking to Fred for back-up.

“Maeve was finally safe at the castle for the first time since the attack on the Manor – we couldn’t break that,” Fred said firmly. Molly’s expression softened a little.

“At least she had you,” Molly managed to say, before bustling out of the room. Arthur followed his upset wife, none of the Order under any illusions about Molly’s emotional state. Thankfully, the portrait of Mrs Black had been relocated to the attic, and couldn’t wail up a storm at the supposed blood traitors.

Remus had his eyes trained on Snape as he said: “Well, what do we do now?”

The spy shuffled uncomfortably and Percy, oblivious to the tension between the two men, answered: “Nothing much we can do, just hope she shows up when she says she will.”

“Maeve doesn’t break her promises, and she wouldn’t abandon Cassia. She’ll be back,” Hermione assured the Order, and the meeting adjourned.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Caity B xx


	30. Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: a few emotional conversations

Stepping out of the fireplace and into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place put all the distance I needed between myself and Walters Manor.

I was later than I had planned to be, and it was nearing midnight on Christmas Eve by the time I’d collected myself together enough to return to my friends. I’d lost most of the morning to research in the extensive library, and then it had been a little more complicated than I thought it would be to breach the wards surrounding Grimmauld Place. I would have been concerned if it wasn’t, but, I clearly overestimated my capabilities.

The kitchen was almost empty – Harry had leapt out of his seat when I stepped through the grate, abandoning a mug of tea on the table.

“Maeve Walters don’t you ever do that again,” Harry scolded, the full force of the worry in his aura hitting me all at once as I acclimatised myself to being in the company of others after the near-week almost entirely alone, save the magical portraits and the remaining Walters house-elves. None of their magical auras were too obtrusive, not like normal wizards. The influx of foreign emotions was intense, and I mentally tried to stabilise myself, to little avail. Harry wrapped me in his arms, keeping me steady on my feet.

I sent out a silent wave of magic to see where Cassia was as Harry hugged me, surveying me carefully.

“I’m okay now, look – I just – Snape caught me off guard and I kind of lost my shit with him,” I tried to explain, but the words wouldn’t come naturally as I stuttered my way through what I was trying to say.

“And he kind of deserved it, Maevey, but anyway, let’s not talk about Snape. Come see everyone; we’ve missed you. Cassia’s dying to see you,” Harry persuaded, leaving no room for my nerves about ducking out on them all, yet again, as he took my hand and dragged me out of the kitchen to the main sitting room.

Harry burst the door open, and I froze in the doorway as everyone’s eyes turned to me. The whole Weasley clan was seated around the room, and Lupin, Tonks, Hermione and Cassia were all scattered between the redheads.

 _Cassia, my darling,_ I called out to her, and I felt the resistance in her mind. Supressing the flinch at my sister’s dislike, I tried again. Fishing around in my satchel, I wrap my fingers around the soft fabric of her baby blanket and hold it tightly in the bag, fist obscured by the satchel, as if leeching the strength from the nostalgic material. 

_Cassia, baby, will you give me a chance to explain? I went home so I could help us both. I talked to Mummy’s portrait and I’d like to take you there some time._

Cassia fixed her face in a frown. _You left me. Auntie Hannah left and then you left._

Guilt swelled inside of me and I released the blanket from my fist. Ignoring the unnerving silence of the room around me, I continued, _I’m back now. I’m not going anywhere again, okay, Cassia, baby?_

Cassia stood up from the sofa, and walked over to me, raising her arms to me to pick her up, and I brought her slowly up into my arms, hugging her close. She curled her fists into my hair, as if to never let me go, I finally looked around the rest of the room.

Not trusting my real voice to work properly, I mentally project my speech: _I’m so sorry for leaving you all. I didn’t trust myself to do the right thing, and me taking space was to prevent my anger getting the better of me. I wasn’t thinking of control, just of hurt, and I couldn’t put you all at risk._

Everyone’s a little startled as my voice projects to all of them without my lips moving a fraction. My mental voice, with all my years of using it, is completely under my control, moreso than my actual voice.

“Can you please stop ducking out on us?” Hermione asked, eyebrows raised and a hand playing with the ends of her hair. Nervous, I realised. Hermione was nervous.

“Yeah, it’s making everything a bit difficult, Maeve,” Ron added bluntly, and Ginny whacked him. I bit back the retort bubbling up, trying to keep the peace. I’d been back less than half an hour and already I wanted to take Cassia and leave.

“Well, I don’t mean for my presence to inconvenience anyone,” I say mildly, keeping the malice firmly out of my tone. My worry about Draco was somewhat rising as he hadn’t appeared in the Manor at all whilst I was there. “Besides, you knew where I was, why I left, and you also knew I was coming back. What’s the issue?”

Whilst to an extent I could understand that it wasn’t that simple, I wish they had trusted me a little more not to do anything too stupid, but then again, maybe I don’t have a clean enough record for that kind of trust.

Charlie rolled his eyes. “It doesn’t quite work like that. We knew where you were, but that didn’t stop people being worried about you.”

I ran a free hand through my hair exasperatedly. Now everything’s on the table, I don’t understand why there’s still so concerned. To me, Walters was almost synonymous with untouchable, and since I fixed the wards up at the Manor, I was completely fine.

“Walters Manor is basically impenetrable. Nothing could have happened,” I replied, with confidence, and my eyes snapped to Remus as his thoughts broke through my mental silencing. Guilt, and a little embarrassment stung in Remus’ emotions, and I exhaled slowly.

“I know, Remus, but I fixed that up as soon as I got there. The hole in the wards that Snape and Malfoy used last time is no more, and I’ve taken numerous extra precautions within the Manor’s security. No one is getting in there without my say-so,” I explained, and Remus sighed.

“Maeve, nothing is that perfect – every ward has its flaws. The ones around the Manor, whilst they are much tighter than most, still have weak points,” Tonks filled in from one look at her boyfriend, who was clearly too exhausted for this conversation.

Molly noticed my reluctance to reply, and sent everyone she could up to bed, under the impression we’d all be up early for Christmas morning anyway, and the majority of the Weasleys couldn’t argue with the no-nonsense tone of their mother. I stepped out of the way of the doorway, with a sleeping Cassia in my arms. Harry left with Ron, Hermione with Ginny, until it was just me and Bill left. Fred and George had left without a word to me, and I knew they were angry without even having to look into their emotional auras. I didn’t know the oldest Weasley child personally, but he wore a serious expression as he towered over me when he stood, watching me carefully.

“Look, Walters, you’ve thrown my family into chaos,” he stated matter-of-factly, piling on the guilt with his words. “Either you’re in or out; you can’t keep playing with them. I don’t like seeing them hurt,” he continued, and I laid Cassia down on the sofa, conjuring a blanket for her with a wave of my hand.

“If I leave now, it’s going to kill them, and I can’t promise to never leave unexpected. It comes with being personally wanted for death by Voldemort and his followers.” My words are harsh and blunt, but I don’t have the energy to try and come up with a perfect solution where there isn’t one.

Bill sighed, folding his arms over his chest. “I-”

“I know you’re trying to protect your family,” I interrupt quickly. “Not by any Legilimency, either. But I’m not trying to cause any pain, but I guess that’s just how destructive Walters always are.”

He smiled sadly at the admission and shook his head. “That’s not what I was going to say. Mum considers Harry, Hermione, you, and now Cassia a part of the family. Family forgive, but you can’t keep making the same mistakes over and over again. That’s when you’re going to lose them.”

His honesty was faultless, and it took me a little while to process what I could say.

“So what you’re saying is I’m going to let them down at some point?”

“If you keep ditching out on us, or if you’ve got some more dramatic reveals, then it’s possible,” he replied delicately. I nodded silently. My face betrayed me, and Bill raised his eyebrows. “You have got more secrets, don’t you?”

I bit my lip, my non-answer answer enough. He let out a low whistle, somehow impressed.

“I have to keep Cassia safe,” I started, and Bill interrupted me.

“And you can’t keep hurting my family.”

My breathing stuttered. “I-I know. I tried to keep myself away, keep myself to myself, and not get involved with anyone. Then the twins kept finding me around school on my own, when I needed that distance, and over the years, I’ve learnt how to be dependent on those around me, rather than on myself. But, when someone I care about is in danger, my first instinct is to protect them from myself, and solve the issue, by whatever means necessary. And, yes, by doing that, I hurt people. But I can’t rewrite my natural instincts. I can’t change who I am. I know exactly how much I hurt everyone around me by leaving; spare me the lecture on keeping my secrets.”

Bill was silent for a long while, flipping his wand between his fingers and watching me with scrutinising eyes.

“You are one confusing witch,” Bill started when his mind cleared. “But everyone in this house knows how much you care. Some of them, yes, like to be a little naïve to some of your methods, but we all know you care, even under that Walters mask you put on sometimes. I’m not asking you to change, but just think about how far you’re willing to hurt people in order to save them.”

The emotions in the room shifted a little as Bill smiled, some of the tension leeching out of his mind.

“How offended would you be if I removed this conversation from your memory?” I joked, and he glared at me, the undertones of his emotions a lot lighter than his expression. “I’m not going to, and I appreciate the advice. I have only been trying to protect Cassia – the fewer people who know about her truth, the better.”

Bill nodded in understanding, glancing towards Cassia, and then back to me with a questioning expression.

“Did you wandlessly conjure a blanket?” I shoot him a grin, and Bill just rolls his eyes. Cassia stirs a little at my laughter, and I scoop her into my arms, heading off upstairs so Cassia can actually get some sleep before the inevitable excited state she will be in for all of tomorrow.

I enchant the old gramophone in the corner to play the magical lullaby to help soothe Cassia to sleep, and I tuck her hippogriff into her arms.

Considering the extent of my invasiveness for only a minute, I sent magical feelers out into the house, gaging how angry everyone truly was with me. Harry, in his restless sleep, was more uneasy and worried than angry, and from a distance I subtly helped him safeguard his mind against any nightmares – that’s not something he should have to deal with at Christmas.

Then, in a spur-of-the-moment decision, I crept out of my shared room and downstairs, following the near-invisible traces of Sirius Black’s magical signature, stamped throughout the house, but slowly fading into nothing without its usual replenishing. The signature, as with all the pureblood signatures in this house, congregate in an empty room just off the kitchen, where the walls were adorned with the Black family tree, and all its many connections dating back generations.

The scattering of scorch marks was the first thing that struck me, and I set about fixing them, wand in hand to help channel my magic to fix such a delicate magical item. When they were all fixed again, our favourite Blacks enchanted to shine brighter in the gloom of the windowless room, I set about filling in the most recent generations to the tree, and gently coaxing their true links, rather than the attitude of the previous witch who created this tree.

On the only blank wall, I was undecided of what I should do. When the idea came to me, I erred uncertainly, afraid for the reaction of the others, but decided to do it anyway, adding leafy branches of friendship across the room, connecting all sorts of people across generations.

Adding final artistic touches took me until very early that morning, and by the time I had finished, I was exhausted, but with one final thing on my mind.

On my way back upstairs, I noticed the energy in the twins’ room, much too strong for those who were just asleep. The twins were the most annoyed with me, after all my promises not to leave, but in this state, neither of them could hide the worried undertones of their emotions. I softly padded down the corridor, and knocked on their door, withdrawing my magic as I grew more nervous.

The door opened on its own, and the boys were sat facing each other, expressions uncharacteristically grim. Neither of them say a word, and when I try and speak my voice comes out quieter than I intended.

“Can I- can I explain?”

They nod in unison, and I sit, barely holding onto the Walters façade I’ve learnt from the portraits over the past week.

Fred senses my hesitation, and he reaches over to grab my hand. As if leeching the strength from him, I manage to find my voice.

“I don’t think I ever realised truly how dangerous a Legilimens can be,” I start, and George’s brow furrows. That’s clearly not where he expected me to start. “When I threatened Snape, it shook me to know I could do everything I claimed to be able to, and it clicked in me just why Legilimens are so feared in the wizarding community. I needed to get out, to leave, before I lost it and did irreparable damage.”

The twins were silent, and I managed a shaky smile. “I know I’ve gone too far, but the truth is that I had to leave, to keep you all safe.”

When neither of them could meet my eyes, I dropped my gaze to the floor, shoulders slumping slightly. I don’t know how else to explain it – what more can I really say?

Trying to block out their thoughts was more difficult; my hands shook involuntarily at all the pain I could see I had caused, but I couldn’t turn a blind eye to it. When I went to stand up, to leave before I saw something more that I shouldn’t, a flash of a memory hit me, of that day they found me hidden in a secret passage and I managed to spill all my secrets.

It hit me like a train, and tears welled in my eyes.

 _Stupid, naïve, idiot,_ I thought angrily, running a hand agitatedly through my hair. When George caught my attention, I realised they were doing it on purpose, pushing that memory onto me.

“You trusted us then; will you trust us now?” George asked carefully, and a shadow of a smile crossed my face.

I managed a nod, affirming my agreement. They both grinned, any traces of anger wiped from their auras, and with no prompting, they told me all about how Cassia had been over the past few days. It didn’t take long before we were all shattered, and I headed back to my room, checking on my sister before collapsing into bed and falling straight to sleep.

***

When Cassia bounded into my bed only a few hours after I’d settled to sleep, I couldn’t fight off the infectious smile that came with waking up on Christmas morning. The spirit was hanging in the air as I watched a gleeful Cassia open the presents in her stocking, swathed in blankets and surrounded by scattered wrapping paper.

The sugar rush started soon after the chocolate frogs, and Cassia couldn’t resist running around everywhere to wake people up. I didn’t have the heart to stop her either, the overall Christmassy cheer in the house overruling any guilt I might have for the early start. 

Hermione came into my room, Cassia in tow, blearily excited at the early start. Hermione, and Ginny, as it turned out, had sorted out my clothes for the day, since Mrs Weasley wanted to make an effort this year to all dress up for Christmas Day; a new tradition for a new time.

The three of us all got ready together, Cassia looking adorable in her blue dress, Hermione in blush pink, and me in a shimmering emerald green, that I couldn’t help but think Draco would love. Not bothering in heels with the flared skirt of my dress, I transfigured the planned shoes into silver pumps, and slid them on. Cassia had pink ballet shoes under her dress, and Hermione in golden-flecked heels that caught the light perfectly when she walked.

Ginny came and joined us in her Gryffindor-red dress, hair curled for the occasion. We all headed downstairs together, to find all the Weasleys and Harry downstairs already, chatting and eating chocolates already.

Cassia hurled herself at Harry, who staggered back slightly into the wall, but managed to just about stay upright in his dress robes from the Yule Ball, magically tailored by Mrs Weasley no doubt to fit him since the growth spurt over the summer. Thankfully for Ron, he’d found a slightly more modern outfit to wear, and looked pretty smart in his robes.

Mrs Weasley started off the morning with a feast of a breakfast, and Cassia raced impatiently through her food, excited for the family Christmas morning every six-year-old loves.

After everyone was suitably full, even Ron, we all filed through to the living room, and Molly waiting anxiously in the doorway, wondering if she should see if Remus and Tonks want to join them.

“I wouldn’t interrupt that if I were you,” I grin as I pass her, into the festive room. Mrs Weasley glares at my insinuation, clipping me around the ears, and I just wink when Bill raises an eyebrow at me. “Legilimens, remember?”

As presents are magically distributed, in what appears to be a Weasley family tradition, Cassia runs around ecstatically, trying not to knock things over. She does well, mostly, and I put tiny, invisible bubble shields that she bounces straight off.

Ginny flicks on the gramophone, and Christmas music blares out. The upbeat tune is exactly what we needed as the chaos begins, wrapping paper flying everywhere as the twins enchant it to fold itself into paper aeroplanes and fly at distracted brothers, mainly Percy and Ron. Despite the very last-minute nature of my Christmas present buying, I’d managed pretty well to get everyone something, and I was particularly happy with my present for Cassia.

Since her scare on my broom, I decided to start back up a little slower, and had bought her a kiddie broom that would only lift her up enough to skim her feet off the ground. Whilst I hadn’t meant to cause chaos for Mrs Weasley, I wasn’t going to discourage Cassia trying out her new toy on Christmas morning, and no one else seemed to have an issue with it.

The only thing I needed to make this the perfect Christmas was to have heard from Draco by now. As people dispersed with gratitude flowing tangibly around me, Hermione curling up in a chair to read, Ron managing to persuade Harry into a game of chess, the twins running off to another room with scarily-mischievous looking grins, the “real adults” wandering into the kitchen.

I ate a chocolate cauldron as I watched Cassia whiz around the room on her new broom, putting up shields where necessary.

The festive cheer was spiking when glitter bombs began exploding in different rooms, and Ron swore loudly as his broom polishing kit was covered in red and gold glittery flecks. I rolled my eyes at Fred and George’s mischief, and listening with a grin to Mrs Weasley’s yelling at her sons. As always, they had their most innocent expressions pasted onto their faces, that no longer fooled anyone, and their auras screamed of joy and pride, despite the yelling in their directions.

Cassia, with gold flecks in her blonde hair, grinned, zooming out into the corridor towards the twins. Harry, having unsurprisingly lost at chess, even with Ginny’s whispered instructions towards the end of the game, came and sat next to me on the sofa, a question forming on his mind.

“What’s got you so distracted, Maevey?”

I sighed, shrugging, even though I knew what it was. Christmas, despite the family surrounding me, was always the time of year where I most sorely felt the missing presence of the Walters clan. Having seen the Manor so recently, memories of all kinds were at the front of my mind, and I half expected my mother to walk into the room at any second, in the same way she had travelled through the portraits at the Manor.

“Harry, I’ve done something for you,” I start, “I want to show you,” I say, before he has a chance to ask. When I stand and offer him my hand, he takes it a little uncertainly, but follows me regardless as I lead him down the hall.

Opening the door, I light up the room with half a thought, and Harry freezes at the sight of the room.

“Maeve,” he breathes, eyes lighting up in wonder as he takes in the intersecting family trees, of the Blacks, the Weasleys, the Potters, and the scattering of friends I joined to the wall. Tears filled into Harry’s eyes as his fingers brushed along Sirius’ picture on the wall, connected with branches of friendship to James Potter and Remus Lupin.

I’d traced back the Potter’s line as far as I could, using the considerable records from Walters Manor. I’d never want to question why we kept such intense records, but for this purpose, they were much more detailed than I needed.

Harry was silent, staring around the room, until he turned back to me, tear tracks down his face.

“You did all this for me?” he managed to ask, voice shaky and thick with emotion. I nodded.

“Happy Christmas, Harry.” Turning back to the intersecting family trees, I trace back Harry’s line with him, giving as much information as I can recall from the Walters records, with the promise to get him copies of everything.

When Mrs Weasley’s shouts for dinner echoed around the house, I silently clear Harry’s face with a quick spell, that he’s internally grateful for, and we head off to dinner together.

***


	31. Reunited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: smut, swearing

Sitting down to Christmas lunch with all my friends and family was a rush of emotion. Over the summer, I acclimatised myself to the idea of Christmas with just me and Cassia. Instead, I was sat at the table in Grimmauld Place, between Cassia and Harry.

The conversation was refreshingly light, as moderated by Mrs Weasley, and the Weasley Matriarch had clearly worked some sort of magic on Cassia whilst I’d been at the manor and she ate her dinner without any fussing, and when the twins brought out joke-shop crackers, we all had a good laugh at the mini fireworks exploding over the table.

When everyone had eaten more than enough for the week, Mrs Weasley brought out more Christmas cakes and desserts than anyone could eat, though the Weasley hollow-leg trait seemed to come in with full force as they all dived in instantly to their mother’s cooking.

Memories of Christmas at the Manor had been bubbling up, and Cassia, having seen a lot of those from me already, climbed into my lap, hugging me fiercely. I pick a biscuit into pieces, offering her bits, but she shakes her head into my chest and I can feel her tears soaking through the fabric.

_Come on, Cass, honey. What’s wrong?_

She sniffles, and I bounce my legs a little, forcing her to look up at me.

_I want Mummy,_ Cassia whines, and I sigh. The one thing I can't give her.

_Baby, you know I can't do that,_ I try and explain, but she doesn't understand, and I don't think I have the capacity to explain in any more detail. Instead, trying something that I haven't done for a long while, I project my own memories to Cassia, showing her Mother in all the details I love, sidelining the less positive teaching moments with her.

Cassia’s mood gradually brightens as I show her more of Mother, and her smile grew, until she was stealing bits of biscuit off my plate and grinning at the display of family.

When I eventually stopped, I had everyone's eyes on me – I hadn't thought that it would attract this much attention, but I tend to become deaf to the outside world when projecting memories, so the chances are that I’ve ignored any attempts for conversation.

“Sorry, what did I miss?” I say, smiling around at everyone.

“We were just saying we're all glad that you're here with us again Maeve,” Harry filled me in, and I grinned.

My face twisted a little at the reminder of my many mistakes and drop-outs on everyone this year. “I know I’m not the easiest person to live with, but I’m doing my best. I’m not getting sentimental on anyone but I appreciate being welcomed back after my issues this summer,” I say with an unusual burst of emotion I keep locked away in my mind, not projecting anything deliberately. Harry takes my hand under the table and squeezes it.

“Of course, Maevey, where else would we get all our wacky plans from?” Ron asked with a grin, taking yet another helping of pudding.

“Not that I condone any of those plans, but Maeve, family is family, and you're with us now, Walters or Ellis,” Mrs Weasley reminded me firmly. I smiled in gratitude, and the mood was lost the instant George set off another indoor firework.

***

Christmas Day was drawing to a rapid close – Cassia had fallen asleep and I’d taken her to bed a while ago, the elder generation of Weasleys were off to bed themselves, unable to keep up with their energetic youths.

Charlie had brought Romanian Firewhiskey, and despite Percy’s initial reprimands on underage drinking, he soon joined in with the rest of us.

I avoided the alcohol – impaired judgement and powerful Legilimency was a bad combination at the best of times, no matter when Draco could potentially be depending on me. But I happily filled my friends’ glasses and listened to the tipsy babbles that began not too long after the bottle was uncorked.

Fred and George had seemingly a much higher tolerance for alcohol than either Percy or Ron, who both ended up falling foul to their tricks and jokes, moreso than usual. Since Ron was unable to respond with any magic, his temperament only worsened, until a mildly drunk Hermione intervened with a few crafty spells in Ron’s defence.

The appearance of a lynx Patronus into the sitting room helped sober up some of the less drunk members of the group, but even the message it carried couldn’t snap the majority of them out of their own thoughts.

“Attacks on muggles happened in great numbers tonight; Order members inbound to Grimmauld Place.”

Sighing, I mentally probed around to see who was in a fit state to help out – unfortunately, I could only find Charlie in a sensible state, and with more than a little persuasion required, I sent the others to go and sleep of their alcohol. Harry, out of everyone, needed the most cajoling, but, after a small mental invasion, I persuaded him to go before he ended up doing something stupid.

Quickly firing off a message to Tonks and Lupin, and the Weasley parents, Charlie and I headed into the kitchen to await the arrival of the Order, or at least, the sober ones.

Kingsley himself was the first to arrive, with McGonagall and Snape in tow, who froze at the sight of me sitting calmly at the kitchen table. Remus and Tonks managed to make themselves decent before coming downstairs, although there was little their auras could hide from me. I didn’t comment on it, only because of the concern and anxiety in the auras in the room.

“We know certain named Death Eaters who were a part of these attacks,” Kingsley started, relaying the information he had from the Ministry of Magic. “But we can’t trace them, and the Ministry is just trying to hush up as much of this as they can to prevent widespread panic.”

“How much information do we have on the Death Eaters?” I ask, a plan beginning to whir in my mind. “Is there enough evidence to get convictions?”

Kingsley nodded slowly. “But we do not know their locations, Walters.”

I shrug. “I can find them,” I say nonchalantly, and McGonagall’s brows knit together.

“They could be anywhere, Miss Walters, where would you even start?”

With a slight flick of my eyes to Remus, who was doubtlessly thinking about the same incident I was, I said: “Well, I found Remus when no one else could, after searching the whole country; how much more difficult can this be?”

No one seemed prepared to argue with me – they didn’t exactly have many plans themselves for immediate action we could take. “Well, then,” Tonks said brightly, “What do you need, Maeve?”

“A list of names, known or suspected hiding spots, and …” I trailed off, mentally testing out the room. “A stronger magical epicentre.”

Snape and Kingsley went to create the lists, with the combined knowledge of a Death Eater spy and a Ministry Auror.

I wandered the halls of the house, feeling the ups and downs of the magic present in the wards and the tension of the secrecy shrouded within these walls. I ended up heading back to the kitchen, where the pull of the wards made the magic the strongest. Maybe that was just the number of powerful wizards standing in the kitchen that pulled me back.

“This room is the strongest, but it’s not great,” I said as I re-entered the room. “It’s pretty risky for me to widely search from here.”

Just as Charlie was going to make a suggestion, I felt a tug of Draco’s presence in my mind, and my eyes slipped closed, as I strengthened the connection, so he could speak.

_Maeve, where are you?_

_Are you hurt, Draco?_ I answered instantly, not bothering to try and explain. I could tell he was at the Manor, based on his ability to speak mentally to me, and for him to leave his family on Christmas Day …

_Just fine, Maevey, where are you?_

_London, with the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione. Look, I’m coming there right now, okay? Don't go anywhere,_ I instructed, the current task at hand ignored completely.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at me when I turned to look at him, the focus returning to my eyes.

“Finding these people individually is going to be a long-winded task; maybe we should focus more on some sort of counter-move? I’m not sure it’s safe for me to search this widely – I’m just going to end up getting lost.”

McGonagall nodded, clearly appreciating the semblance of self-preservation I seemed to have gained in recent times. The older members of the Order banded together in a hushed discussion away from Charlie and I, and I left the room on the pretence of Cassia needing me.

Charlie followed me, stopping me in the hallway as I bypassed the stairs.

“My brothers would kill me if I let you leave without another word,” he said gravely, a calloused hand on my shoulder. His eyes searched mine, looking for any signs he could find that I was running. I shook his hand off my shoulder, and start off down the corridor, mentally preparing myself to see Draco, and exactly what state Christmas with Death Eaters had left him in. Just as I had made it to the door to the living room, I felt the brief attempt at Legilimency push at the boundary of my shields.

I raised my eyebrows at his actions, rounding on him, and taking a few careful steps back towards him. “You know that’s not going to work, right?”

Charlie grinned, saying: “But it slowed you down, didn’t it?” Just as I tried to figure out the meaning of his words, Tonks and Remus came into the corridor, stopping suddenly as they noticed the stand-off between myself and Charlie.

Remus seemed to notice my intent the fastest, the exhaustion from Christmas replaced with anger at my recklessness after being back for less than two days.

“Maeve Walters, don’t you dare leave again!” Remus threatened, and I sighed, leaning back against the wall.

“I wasn’t leaving for long – Draco’s at the Manor, and I just need to go and see him,” I confess. Secretive behaviour comes naturally and is always my first instinct, and it always feels like I need to keep my life and my decisions to myself, until I’m forced into confession. “Please, give me two hours, and I’ll be back before anyone even notices I’ve gone.”

Remus’ conflict spilled out of the boundary of his mind, leaking into my vision and Tonks put her arm through his, holding him back as he looked about ready to physically force me not to leave.

With a deep breath, I headed towards them, stopping an arms’ length away from Remus, and doing my best to smile.

“I, Maeve Anne Walters, give you, Remus John Lupin, permission to enter Walters Manor. If I’m not back in the morning, you can now come looking for me,” I explain, and Remus nodded tightly.

With the silent permission I read in their eyes, I turned away and headed into the sitting room, lighting the fire and stepping into the grate, on my way home, back to Draco.

***

Returning to the Manor for the second time was much less jarring, and as I stepped out of the grate, into the main dining hall, my breath caught as I took in Draco, sat at the long, empty table, knees pulled up to his chest, and dark eyes without the usual spark of life.

“Draco?” I called softly, startling him out of his thoughts, and his face lit up, unfolding himself from the chair.

I crossed the floor towards him, and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. The all-too-familiar minty-and-citrus scent weaves its way into my senses, as effective as a calming draught, and we stay still, in each other’s embrace for a long time.

When his arms loosened from around my shoulders, I looked up at his face, taking in the unusual pallor, and silvery-streaked tear-tracks on his face.

“I’ve missed you, Maevey,” he murmured, and brought his lips gently to mine.

I kissed him softly, testing out his mood with my mind, and my movements, hesitant to push too far and go further than he wanted.

When he drew back with a flash of a question in his eyes, I knew my hesitation was misplaced; this was the wrong impression to be giving for the first time I’d seen him since school broke up for the holidays.

“Draco, please, talk to me,” I say, resting our foreheads together. “How did everything go?”

Draco’s expression twitched, and I took his hands in mine. His own hesitation at communication was evident, and I scanned his face and aura, checking for signs that something had gone badly wrong. I couldn’t see anything, but I didn’t push too deep, still honouring my promise to him not to read his mind without his consent.

“Father wanted to give it to me, but I left before he could summon the Dark Lord. But, uh, Maeve,” Draco trailed off, fear coating his aura, and my relief was cut off before it could even truly set in.

“My mother knows I came here, she heard where I was going through the fireplace.”

My heart stopped. And stuttered back into a ragged rhythm as I masked the emotions on my face and closed our emotional connection mentally from my end.

A Malfoy knows the Walters aren’t gone. A Malfoy knows the Walters aren’t gone.

Cassia. _Cassia_. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Draco watched me carefully, guilt written all over his expression and aura.

_It’s not your fault,_ I tell Draco, my grip on his hands tightening.

“I don’t think she’ll do anything with it; all she cares is that I’m safe,” Draco tries to persuade me, and I shake my head.

“I’m not sure I can take that kind of chance – I have to think about Cassia first and foremost, and it’s dangerous for her,” I try and argue, but the anxiety is taking over, and I’m struggling to string together thoughts. Draco put an arm around me as I lose my footing, and steadies me.

He dragged me gently over to the table, and pulled me into his lap. Instinctively, I leant my head on his shoulder, and Draco ran his hand comfortingly through my hair.

“Maybe we should go back to Hogwarts early?” he suggested, and I just shrugged. I’m not in the right kind of mindset to be thinking about this clearly – if I plan something whilst I’m this panicked, I’ll just need to replan tomorrow.

We sit in silence, Draco not pushing me, and I tried desperately to calm my mind, but my thoughts raced at a mile a minute, and I couldn’t focus. All I could think about was Cassia, and how I could possibly keep her safe.

“Maybe you should get some sleep,” Draco suggested lightly, and I shook my head against his chest. “Maevey, I’m so sorry for all of this,” he whispered, and I look up into the stormy grey eyes I learned to love, filled with unshed tears.

When a tear spills over, I reach up with a shaking hand and wipe it gently away, leaving my hand resting on his cheek.

“Draco, I knew it was a risk, but one I wanted to take, for you, because I love you. Please, it’s not your fault, just … don’t leave now,” I manage with the utmost sincerity.

“I am going nowhere, Maeve, I promise.”

I slowly brought my lips to his, winding my fingers in his hair. He kissed me back, equally gently. I shifted on Draco’s lap so I was straddling him, and kissed him again, with more desire burning in my lips.

Draco pulled back a touch, starting a sentence just as I moved, and his words were cut off with a groan.

“Oh, fuck me, Maeve,” he muttered, and I quirked an eyebrow at him, but he didn’t follow my meaning. “Is there somewhere we can take this?” He managed to ask, and I hesitated before nodding, standing and leaning back over him to kiss him again. Already the separation felt too much; I didn’t realise how much my heart, and my body, missed him until he was within my reach again.

His hands found their way to my waist, then lower, until he was cupping my arse, refusing to let us separate.

“I thought you didn’t want to fuck me on my family dining table,” I whispered to Draco as we split for air, and his face colours in embarrassment, hands dropping. I grab the tie he’s wearing and pull him up, meeting our lips in an embrace.

He lets me lead him out of the dining hall and down an endless maze of corridors. I hesitate at the end, in front of two doors, and take the left one, dragging Draco inside and pushing him up against the closed door before he can say a word.

The room is extravagant, like everything in this place, but it’s mostly unfamiliar to me. Despite being untouched, the room is perfect, the king-sized bed dominating the space in the middle of the room.

We kissed at the door, my fingers working to undo Draco’s tie and buttons, and eventually getting frustrated and waving my hand in a lazy attempt at a wandless spell, which surprisingly for the both of us, worked.

Draco tugged at the hem of my top, and I stepped back far enough to take it off and sling it to some unknown corner of the room.

“I just want you tonight, no games, I _need_ you,” Draco moaned into my neck, marking me with a possessive bite, and I shivered at the feeling, nodding at the lust pouring out of Draco’s aura.

He lifted me up, lips still connected, and crossed the room, lying me on the bed. He left trails of kisses down my neck, and around the fabric of my bra, his arousal pressing insistently into me.

Heat and desire rush through me, and in an accidental burst of magic, I remove all our clothes in a single thought, sending Draco laughing into my newly-exposed skin.

“Damn, Maeve, I love you,” he whispered, nothing left to hide his hardness.

From there, it doesn't take long until Draco’s inside me, moving at a slow pace, love and adoration broadcasting through our mental link. I crack mine open with some of the last remaining control I have as Draco drives me crazy, pouring the same emotions back to him.

As he feels them, his thrusts get faster, and he comes in a love-driven frenzy, and my own orgasm tilts over the edge into a void of pleasure. As Draco lies next to me, perfectly contented judging by his aura, he turns to me, and scans my face with a soft smile.

“I’m with you until the end, Maevey; I promise you that.”

I snuggle into his arms, and summon a blanket with a lazy spell, at which I feel Draco’s chest rumble with a laugh.

“You're a little scarily powerful sometimes, Maevey,” he mumbles honestly to me, and I sigh.

“Yeah, I kno _w,”_ I reply slowly, unable to detect any undertones to that statement in my exhausted state.

I did my best to put the comment out of my mind as his breathing settled into a steady rhythm, but exhaustion was creeping over me, and before I could truly hide the memory from my mind, I fell asleep, all my loose memories rattling around in my mind.

When I wake, I slip out of Draco’s arms, conjuring a robe and shrugging it over my shoulders. I know he's the only one here, but Remus could show up at any point, and I’d rather not be caught naked by an ex-teacher.

I leave the door to the room open, pausing in the doorway and looking back at my sleeping boyfriend, half-convincing myself that I shouldn't do this and just try and go back to sleep. But, with my childhood bedroom untouched across the corridor, I knew it would haunt me not to at least have looked over all the time I’ve spent here over the holidays.

When I pushed open the door, I winced at the creak, and looked back. Draco didn't stir, and I made my way into the room, leaving the door wide open, just in case. In case of what, I don't know. All I know is I don't want to be stuck in this room for any longer than is strictly necessary.

Nothing had changed; clothes still littered the floor as they always had, and stacks and stacks of books were scattered everywhere, in a way as so I didn't know where to start looking for what I wanted. I needed the books to teach Cass about the basics of controlling Legilimency, but when I’d looked in the library, there were more gaps than books. Clearly, I hadn't been much inclined to tidying as a child.

The room itself, decorated in all the Hogwarts house colours, was as vibrant as I remember. I don't let myself think about the promised makeover of this room once I had been sorted.

I grabbed a satchel from under my bed, a present from Aunt Matilda imbued with an undetectable extension charm she made me promise not to tell Mother about at the time. I began sifting through the piles of books, trying to find the teaching books I knew would be around here somewhere.

“Maevey?” Draco said quietly from behind me, and I turned to find him completely naked and leaning against the doorframe unabashedly.

“Sorry, love, I didn't mean to wake you,” I apologised, and he shook his head.

“Are you okay, being back here and all? We can leave and go somewhere else,” he offered immediately, and I shook my head.

“It’s okay, I needed to get some of this stuff for Cassia’s training,” I reply honestly, doing my best not to stare. He didn't seem to believe me, and I couldn't put my finger on what was different until I realised I was still broadcasting my emotions. I shut that down as quickly as I noticed it, and Draco raised an eyebrow at me.

He had definitely tuned into my emotions, and I just slammed the door in his face. He crossed the room to me, taking my fidgeting hands in his and stilling them.

“Maevey, please, don't shut me out,” Draco pleaded softly, and I nodded slowly, cracking open the door to my emotions just a little.

Draco smiled at that, and then leaned over to kiss me. I let him, then pulled back.

“I love you, but we’re not having sex in my childhood bedroom,” I said firmly as Draco’s cock stirred.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Well, if someone hadn't vanished my clothes last night, then I would be wearing something,” he said, and it clicks in my mind that he's not yet seventeen and can't really do magic outside of school.

I grin at him, and he mock-glares at me. I kiss him again, and when Draco pulls back with his best “are you serious?” face, I can't help but giggle. I created his clothes from taking a little energy from the wards around this room to fashion a typical Draco outfit of a black suit with a green lining, left casually unbuttoned at the collar.

“I know I said you were too powerful, and I didn't mean it as it sounded but when you do something like that, you have to see where I’m coming from, right?”

As much as I don’t like it, I can see exactly what he means. Drawing old magic out of a ward isn’t taught anywhere – it’s the kind of old Pureblood magic simply passed down by generation.

I nod, leaning into him and watching through half-closed eyes as three stacks of books tumble over.

“Well fuck,” I mumble, not getting up. Even the threat of Remus Lupin finding us wasn't enough to motivate, and I leaned against Draco, letting the memories flood me with the stable presence at my back.


	32. Testing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: swearing 
> 
> Next chapter publishing on 30th December 2020 :)

I knew logically that Remus was going to come looking for me in not too long. I knew I needed to be home for Cassia. But I also knew I needed Draco more than I ever had.

I hadn't exactly asked the Order about bringing Draco to Grimmauld Place, but it was drawing closer and closer to my deadline for making a decision on what to do.

I’d transfigured my robe into more substantial clothing – jeans, button-up shirt and I’d ventured only as far as the front room downstairs to steal a pair of Aunt Matilda’s shoes, because dragging too much magic out of the wards wasn't really my smartest plan. And I couldn't bring myself go searching in Mother’s room.

Whilst I’d stayed here on my own, I did the bare minimum of entering rooms I knew had memories attached – the library was necessary, the kitchen was necessary, my parent’s bedroom, however, was not necessary.

Once I’d assured Draco the ministry couldn't detect magic from inside these walls, he had relented and magically helped me clean up the room we stayed in, and my childhood bedroom. I found all the books I needed, and stuffed them into the satchel, then we headed together back downstairs to the main dining hall, where I lit a fire. All the cleaning had given me the chance to have a proper think about the decisions I was making.

The Death Eaters don’t have access to Grimmauld Place, so it's the most logical place for Draco to go right now. Theoretically he could stay here but with the lack of food or company, that felt a little harsh. The Order can argue with me all they want; I trust Draco and he can't be admitted to meetings anyway since he’s not of age, so it's not like it's technically any different to having Harry, Ron or Ginny around.

The fire burst into life as I turned back to Draco; apprehension was rolling off him in waves as I’d been totally transparent about the situation we were walking into.

“None of them are going to be happy with me; this is the second time I’ve left without a word now and they're all also going to be hungover, meaning tempers aren't going to last long. But I will vouch for you to the ends of the Earth, alright?” I assure him, and Draco takes my hand, in a burst of confidence. I bring him in for a kiss, and it’s short and sweet, before our impending deadline catches up.

When we step into the fire, I throw down some Floo powder and say clearly: “Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.”

The unpleasantness of Floo travel never gets old, but as we step through the fireplace in the living room, I see the crowd we have waiting for us and wince.

No one is overly stunned when Draco steps through with me; I’m assuming that Remus told them all why I left.

Cassia, with little hesitation, runs first into Draco’s arms, and he picks her up, one hand still in mine as I turn to the twins, who, judging by their auras, and the thoughts they’re practically shouting at me, didn't know we were together before this morning.

“Think about what you say carefully,” I warn as Fred opens his mouth to speak.

“Does it have to be Malfoy?” George asked, cutting off his brother’s question.

“Yes,” I answer without any doubt in my voice.

“Okay, but you know this place is supposed to be secret, right?” Hermione reminded me, and I nodded, biting my lip.

“Maeve helped me escape getting the Dark Mark; I’m not exactly here by choice,” Draco explained shortly, and I squeezed his hand a little. “I’m here to cause no trouble – I just have very few options right now.”

“Then it's fine, this house is about as safe as you can get these days. But asking questions isn’t going to get you answers for a lot of things around here,” Remus warned him, and Draco nodded, clearly still feeling Remus’s status as a professor.

“Mum’s making breakfast,” Charlie announced as he put his head around the door. He saw me hand-in-hand with Draco, and sighed a little but said nothing. I ignored the thoughts I heard. 

And that was all it took for attentions to divert to the more important matter – food. The Weasleys definitely had their priorities straight on this matter.

Cassia demanded a hug from me too, and I carried her into the kitchen, Draco in tow. I hadn't exactly considered what his reaction might be to the House of Black, even with all our attempts at making it a more homely space. None of them had really worked, but at least we had got rid of that awful portrait of Mrs Black, thanks to my outburst.

When Mr Weasley spotting the blonde hair in amongst the red, his eyes narrowed, but Bill elbowed him before he could say anything, whispering lowly into his father’s ear. Whatever it was that Bill said worked a treat, and neither Arthur or Molly commented negatively on Draco’s presence.

Late breakfast passed with relative ease, and during its course, members of the Order began to show up.

I hadn't even considered it earlier, but if and when Snape turns up for what is appearing to be an Order meeting, some interesting conversations are going to be had.

_Is Snape due to be here today?_ I speak directly to Remus, who drops his fork in surprise but recovers quickly enough.

_I think so, why- oh fuck okay uhhh,_ Remus’s thoughts trailed off, and I bit my lip. Hearing Remus swear was far too natural considering the main context I knew him from was being a professor.

“Okay, non-members need to clear out,” Moody announced as he walked into the room, and Draco nearly upset his glass.

_Cassia honey, will you take Draco upstairs and show him the Christmas card you made him?_ I ask her gently, and she takes Draco’s hand wordlessly and drags him away. Harry, Ginny and Ron reluctantly leave too, and Mrs Weasley closes the door behind them, putting up a few charms around the door.

“Well, since the last few meetings have ended somewhat abruptly, we need to run through some things with the new recruits,” McGonagall started, and I glanced to Hermione, who shrugged. 

“We’re all confident in your abilities, but is there anything you want to share with us now?” Tonks assures us, and I nod for Hermione to go first.

“I can, uh, shield myself I guess is what you call it. Invisibility of my magic as well as myself,” Hermione tries to explain, and Remus nods, impressed. Snape belatedly enters the room, his presence acknowledged by everyone other than myself.

When everyone turns to me to answer the question, I sigh. “I think you saw as much as you needed to last time, but Legilimency, the Empathic magic, wordless and wandless magic. I guess I could add an affinity for working with wards too, but then Hermione’s good with them too. Everything, other than the ward magic, really is genetic,” I add.

“Whilst that is quite the list, Walters, how much of it are you able to use consistently and competently in battle?” Moody asked, forever analysing the new talent.

“If a situation called for it, I am prepared to use my Legilimency in some less moral ways, yes,” I replied honestly, barely having to consider it. To protect Cassia and my friends, I’ll do anything.

_“_ That’s good to hear Walters, although perhaps something to limit the training with,” Moody continued as he eyed Snape’s apparent disapproval.

Around the kitchen, the auras changed a little. A slight tremor of … fear? Apprehension? I guess that’s well-deserved. Wizards don't like Legilimens, and for the most part, it's with good reason. My family alone, well, there was a reason why they separated themselves from everyone. No one trusts a Legilimens, especially when you don't know if you're thoughts are your own.

“What kind of thing do you class as _less moral_? What sort of power are we talking about?” Tonks asked, her aura telling me she half didn't want to hear the answer.

I hesitate, biting my lip. “I know using excessive force can shatter a person’s mind, my mother told me she once took complete and utter control of someone’s mind and actions, and she trained me to do the same thing.”

From what happens next to the auras in the room, multiple things become crystal clear. Snape was the one under Mother’s control, and she was a right bitch to him. It had all been in the name of revenge for something between Snape and Lupin. McGonagall remembered this event when it happened.

I didn't press for more details – some things are better left unknown.

“Not to be insensitive or anything, but you knew how to shatter a person’s mind, or take control of it, before you even came to Hogwarts?” Tonks asked, and I nodded shortly.

“Okay, well, I think the plan is much the same as usual; we can use the empty room down the corridor for practice, the rest of the holidays is training every day, and then when you get back to school, Severus will continue with it,” McGonagall explained, and I nodded along with Hermione.

“Any updates from you, Severus?” Kingsley asks, but Snape shakes his head.

“The Dark Lord was too busy revelling in the success of their attacks for any useful conversations to be had,” Snape says with silky distaste. “But they are compiling a list of squibs to target next.”

My hands involuntarily tighten into fists, my nails digging into my palms as I refuse to let myself react in any other way.

Aunt Hannah is probably one of the most well-concealed squibs out there. Everything about her would appear normal – Grandmother made sure of that when she disowned her daughter at age eleven, when her letter from Hogwarts never came. She was given an adoptive family, a new surname, fictional records of her earlier childhood. Hannah Walters never existed on any wizarding record. Hannah Ellis is a muggle, on muggle records, with no connection to the wizarding world in any paper trail the Death Eaters could follow.

Hannah is safe from the Squib attacks – but if she's unlucky enough to get caught in one of the attacks on muggles …

I don't let myself consider the possibility.

When the meeting wraps up, peacefully this time, I head through with Hermione to the designated duelling room, with Tonks, Snape and Kingsley.

“Okay, Maeve, you said you can do wards. Ward around this room to stop anyone else being able to enter,” Tonks instructed, more in her element now than in a meeting. 

I put up two layers of warding magic, weaving in some simple runes to only allow the five of us in or out, and set them in place with a protective ward designed to make the wards more difficult to break and also invisible to most wizards.

Tonks nodded her approval as she watched what I was doing. “You really have been holding back on us in class,” Tonks muttered, more to herself than me, and I grinned.

“Guilty.”

“Let's start with a teamed duel – Severus and Tonks against Hermione and Maeve,” Kingsley instructed, and Hermione and I took one side of the room, Tonks and Snape the other. “So no dark magic, aiming to disarm only, starting easy.”

As spells began flying around the room, I couldn't help but smile as I knew Hermione was back on form, and getting stronger by the day. The magic she was using was at her usual standard.

Duelling Snape with a limit on how dark the magic could be was a new experience; the near-constant firing of stunners our way had to make up for it though.

_Hermione, I’m going to try something_ , I tell her, keeping a shield over her in case she dropped it in surprise. She did. _Can you shield us both?_

Hermione nodded through our mental link, and I break it away, channelling all my energy into modifying the wards to be mirrored behind our opposition whilst still making it seem like I was attacking as normal. Then, I sent a few spells within a huge barrage a little haywire, so they bounced off the back of the walls, and two _expelliarmus_ spells hit their unprotected backs, wands jolting out of their hands.

Kingsley had watched my efforts carefully, and at the surprise of the other two, he cracked a grin.

“Creative solution, Maeve, I’m impressed,” Kingsley nodded, and motioned for the two professors to turn around, at which point they noticed the mirroring spell attached to the wards.

Snape’s temperament only worsened as Kingsley changed up the partners, pairing myself with the Potions master, and Hermione and himself, Tonks as the mediator this time.

“Okay, so same type of duel, nothing dark, but we want to see how well you can work with someone new.”

I shielded Hermione’s first blow, a Leg-Locking Jinx, and even though I couldn't hear it, I could see the scraps of conversation flying from our opponent’s lips in between offensive spells.

They clearly had a tactic – I just need to hope that whatever it is, we can defend it separately.

“Come on, Maeve, Severus. What part of team don’t you understand?” Tonks yells, as we each send a stunner, only for the spells to collide in the middle of the floor and explode in a glittery, red shower.

Snape turns slightly, only enough to see me more clearly rather than just a presence in his peripheral vision, keeping up the shield between himself and the opponent.

“Any bright ideas?” I ask, still churning out offensive spells in hopes the shields will shatter eventually, so long as they forget to reinforce them with their plotting.

“Only dark magic,” Snape snarled, sending more spells, and reinforcing both our shields. Not that mine needed reinforcing. But anyway.

“How fucking useful,” I mutter, and Snape turns fully at me in part anger, part disbelief, but before he can say a word, Kingsley and Hermione enact their plan. Kingsley sent a wave of golden magic sweeping across the room, enough to take out both our shields fully, and then Hermione sent stunners our way, and then the lights went out.

***

Once Hermione _ennervated_ Snape and myself, he rounded on me, and I met his glare with one of my own.

“Miss E-Walters, we're on the same side, you have to at least work with me,” Snape remarked and I knew he had a point. Part of my oath for joining the Order was to work with any and all members, no matter if said member had helped massacre my family.

“Yeah, well, you don't exactly make it easy,” I muttered, and Snape’s face didn't so much as flicker. His emotions, however, did, and a kernel of pity entered his mind, almost completely shrouded by guilt.

“I don't want your fucking pity, you bastard!” I snap, and he flinches a little. I take a second to reel in the magic slipping away from me, out of control and store it away, returning my wand to its sheath to stop any unwanted bursts of magic channelled in a specific direction.

“Okay, now that that’s all out the way,” Tonks said cautiously, placing a hand on my shoulder, which I didn't immediately shrug off. Tonks took that as progress, and she continued: “I think we can be done with the offensive duels for the day, why don't we work on some spells individually?”

Kingsley agreed to the idea a little too quickly to not be suspicious, which gave Snape little room to object.

Kingsley set up a ward to absorb spells sent at it, and between the three “real” adults, they called out a bunch of spells, watching as we made our way perfectly through them with incantations, then through the same sequence all wordlessly cast.

Hermione only faltered on the wordless stunner, but she's been practicing wordless magic for much less time than me, and for me it’s more intuitive now to cast wordlessly than with the incantations.

“I’m sure you can both do a Patronus, so maybe, Maeve, can we test that wandless magic?” Tonks suggested, and Hermione stepped aside, taking my wand with her, a grin on her face.

Directing the magic with my mind was a little

more taxing, but at the same time, it was a bit of a mindfuck for everyone else watching since the magic appeared out of nowhere.

Once I’d proven myself as competent with wandless magic, Tonk was grinning widely.

“This is not something I’m flaunting in class, or any time it’s unnecessary,” I assure her, and she pouts, eyes still shimmering with possibility. “What else is there you want to do today?”

“I mean, I was just wondering about your empathic magic, Maeve,” Hermione started, and I turned to her with a questioning expression. “Is it just reading other’s emotions, or can you project in the same way with the Legilimency?”

“Yeah, I can manipulate emotional fields, but mostly it's more effort than it's worth as a strategy in a fight,” I explain, and Tonks cocks her head in confusion.

I scramble about in my mind for the words, a way to explain it, but I can't come up with any easy comparisons they would understand. “I guess it could be a lack of practice – small scale is fine, that’s easy, but in a crowd, it's more difficult to keep everything stable.”

“Maybe you should practice then?” Snape asks not-so-nicely, and I glare at him, but don't reply, because I know he’s technically right.

“Anything else we need to do?” I ask, eager to put some distance between myself and the Potions Master before my temper reached its peak.

Kingsley shook his head, “Nothing else, this is just to try and guess what else we can teach you – I think we’ll do talking Patronuses at some point. It’s definitely a useful skill.”

When we all leave the room, Draco returns downstairs, my sister behind him, and he stops abruptly to stare at Snape, who stares right back.

“Draco, what in the name of Salazar are you doing here?” Snape hissed, and Draco gripped the banister, a little dazed with shock.

“I-I … what are you doing here?” he retorted, and tensions in the room grew. The two Slytherins were somewhat outnumbered, and all the suspicion in the surrounding auras was too much, even though neither of them could see it. I guess systematic suspicion runs between Gryffindor and Slytherin, even outside of school.

Glancing at Draco, I knew he was holding back a lot, a lot he didn’t want to say in front of the crowd that had gathered. I sent out a small wave of Legilimency magic in a persuasive rather than commanding tone that everyone give Draco and Snape some space to talk.

It worked like a charm (which I suppose it technically is a charm, so that much is unsurprising) and the space cleared. I left with Cassia, heading upstairs and resisting the urge to eavesdrop on their conversation. I sent a little spell at George’s extendable ear, and he glared at me, but at my serious expression, rolled his eyes and headed into Harry and Ron’s room, where we were all headed. I heard the click of a door shutting behind me, and I forced myself to focus on the room in front of me, rather than attempting any long-range Legilimency.

Whatever happened between Snape and myself, however unforgivable, if Draco can have someone he considers his family, then I’m happy for him. Draco’s happiness is the important bit – but the second Snape steps out of line, you can bet I’ll be there to stop him, professor or no professor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> \- Caity B xx


	33. Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: nothing really, just all of the feels.
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on the 3rd of January 2021 :)
> 
> Happy reading!

The time between Boxing Day and Cassia’s birthday on December 30th was chaotic. Mrs Weasley was adamant that we had to celebrate in style, and yet I could not go out to Diagon Alley as planned for her gifts, because of the stupid Death Eaters and their repeated attacks on both Muggle and Wizard London.

Since I was not allowed out myself, on the account of being “muggle-born”, Tonks volunteered to buy what I needed for me, and I sent her to Diagon Alley with a list and a bag of galleons.

I refused to tell anyone about Narcissa Malfoy knowing about the Walters. It would only worry people, and as much as I trust Draco, his faith in his mother is not something I particularly want to take the chance on. I have spent far too many hours lying awake at night thinking about ways I could have enough access to her mind to remove the memory, but I have come up with absolutely nothing.

Cassia, on the bright side, is blissfully ignorant, and her excitement for her birthday grows daily. It is the first one she has had with me, and I want to make it special in every way I can.

I spent every day on the run-up to her birthday with Cassia, playing and indulging her every wish, magical and non-magical, to the best of my ability.

We baked cookies with Mrs Weasley and made up stories together, projecting them in the room around us. Hermione taught Cassia a few simple songs on the piano in the front room of the house, and we roped the wizards on mass into gymnastics, all of us indulging her chance at bossing us around.

When the twins, Ron and Ginny agreed to join in with this, I am not sure they quite knew what they were signing up for. Hermione did, and was surprisingly apt at the sport, and Harry, despite having expert balance on the Quidditch pitch, joined in and failed instantly. Draco knew what it was, and it took a lot of effort on Cassia’s part, and a few falls on Ron’s part, to convince him that he wasn't going to make a fool out of himself. Or, at least, no more than anyone else.

Charlie, who was the oldest of the Weasley children remaining at Grimmauld Place (both Bill and Percy had to return to work), walked in on the gymnastics session and surprised us all with a double handspring across the room. Both Fred and George were astounded, and instantly tried to copy, only to end up in a heap on the warded floor.

I amused Cassia by walking in a crab across the room, and she climbed on top of me, and I went a little faster, much to her giggles.

As Ron and Ginny attempted the same thing, and their spines refused, Ron called to me: “What sort of magic are you using, Maeve?”

Cassia climbs off me, and I walk over to my feet, grinning at Ron.

“No magic, just muggle exercise,” I responded, and his mouth hung open. I winked at him as I watched Fred get the backbend right, and Cassia start tickling his middle, for him to collapse to the floor in laughter.

I surveyed the wizards and witches around me, and Cassia’s happiness infected everyone in the room. I could not tell if this was her accidentally projecting emotions, or if it was just the natural environment of the room. If it was a projection, she was getting a lot more powerful than I had anticipated, but that anticipation comes only from my own memory of being six-nearly-seven, not from the reliable sources of the journals I had stashed upstairs.

When Cassia went to sleep on the evening of her birthday, after many stories and lullabies, with eventually her exhaustion, and her magical mobile kicking in, I took one of the journals downstairs, and joined everyone in the living room. Ginny and Ron were engaged in a game of chess, and Hermione was reading an Arithmancy book, Harry idly doing one of his Christmas holiday assignments. Sitting next to Draco, I leaned back into him, resting my head against his chest, and taking out the book to read.

The first entry to the journal was in my grandmother’s hand, and was about my Aunt Matilda, the oldest of the three sisters.

_Matilda Edith Walters, aged 4 years and 6 months_.

_Matilda is easily distracted and has only shown interest in Potions studies thus far. Her reading and writing is standard, and she enjoys outdoor activities much more than her studies. Already she has shown an ability to communicate using Mindspeak, but inconsistently, and often reacts visually rather than mentally._

_Matilda Edith Walters, aged 5 years and 8 months._

_Matilda had began to take her studies more seriously as Margaret grows, and sees the danger of her power untrained. I have already had to intercede Matilda invading Margaret’s mind twice – she needs discipline, but first she needs to learn the true extent of what she will be able to do._

_Matilda Edith Walters, aged 6 years and 4 months._

_Matilda shows an excellent aptitude for mental invasions and Mindspeak, although her control is a minor issue. The major issue is that she can not appear to read or interpret emotional auras. Next phase of her training is mental discipline, and since she is easily taught, I foresee few issues on this phase. Should the emotional auras prove to be a persistent issue, training using Hannah will have to be resorted to._

Reading the last paragraph, the book slips out of my hand in annoyance at my grandmother, and the pressure of teaching Legilimency control begins to set in on me. Clearly, my mother and aunt were already substantially within their training by Cassia’s age, and I know I was too. Draco leans down to hand the book to me, squinting at the pages in confusion. I take it from him quickly, not wanting the judgement on my family to come from him.

Instead he says: “Maeve, why are those pages blank?”

I blink at him slowly. “They aren't blank,” I say, surveying his face for any sign he is messing with me. I find none, and Hermione looks over, and I show her the pages.

“Blank,” she concurs, and it is only when both Ron and Ginny agree do I realise what it is.

“Bloody Walters,” I mutter, and I feel Draco laugh under me. “The book must be charmed to only show its contents to someone in the Walters bloodline.”

“Now we see where you get that secrecy from,” Ginny grinned, taking one of Ron’s bishops. Ron swore loudly, staring at the board.

I flip through the book, finding my mother’s entries about me, and my training, and I instantly cringe away from the first entry. Harry catches my expression, and rolls his eyes.

“Enlighten us, Maevey, what’s the latest madness from the book?” Harry asked, and I sighed.

I read them the entry, doing my best to keep my tone neutral.

_Maeve Anne Walters, aged 3 years and 10 months._

_Maeve has a lack of ability to focus on reading and written tasks, but she has already had multiple conduit moments clearly showing her magical ability, and the Walters bloodline. Mother believes me to be too soft on her, but once she turns four I will begin with her training to control Mindspeaking and her invasions of other’s minds._

When I look back up to the room, everyone is more than slightly stunned.

“You were three, and reading people’s minds?” Ron asked in disbelief, and I nodded.

“Apparently so. I don't remember this specific occasion Mother was referencing, but I guess it must be true.”

Realising that I am volunteering information about my family is enough to shut me up, and I slump back into Draco, returning to my reading about my own training, much of which past the first few entries I remember vividly.

When I reach the entry about my mind-tracking abilities, I snap the book shut and stand up.

“I’m going to turn in; I’ll do my best not to let Cassia wake you guys up until at least seven,” I add with a grin, and Ron groans. He definitely got used to the lie-ins accompanying school holidays. Draco comes upstairs with me, and we get ready for bed in turns – we promised everyone we are living with that we would keep the relationship stuff to a minimum.

I transformed the room I share with Cassia into basically two rooms, and the house does not appear to be objecting to the edit. Draco and I have a little privacy here, and although nothing explicit has happened, it easily could with the warding work I have done around the room.

I carefully stack the journal with the rest, and Draco comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, and resting his chin on my shoulder. Our eyes meet in the mirror above the desk, and I grip my hands around his.

“You can talk about your family, Maevey, you know that, right?” Draco asks softly, and my breath hitches. Despite guessing that was what this was about, I was still very unprepared for the conversation.

“I just…” I hesitate, and Draco waits for me, until I am ready to continue. “They aren't - weren't bad people; they did what they had to so Hogwarts didn't have havoc-wreaking eleven years olds running around.”

Draco’s rubbing small circles around the pulse points on my wrist, and calm washes over me, and I take a deep breath.

“Training Natural Legilimens is so incredibly important, and they just followed the method they knew worked, that dates back through these journals for generations and generations. But I don't want to have to defend my family to my friends,” I manage. Draco continued circling my pulse points.

“You never have to defend your family’s actions to me, okay? I know it must be difficult talking about them, but I’m here to listen whenever you want,” Draco offered, and I managed a soft smile.

“Thank you, my love,” I whisper, and close the gap between our lips. It is a sweet kiss, and the love between us is unparalleled. When we get into bed, Draco curls his arms around me, tucking me close into his chest.

I take extra care tonight to lock away my memories, anything that could give me a nightmare hidden away and out of reach.

“I love you, Maevey,” Draco whispers to me, and I just manage to mumble it back before I fall asleep.

***

As predicted, Cassia was awake before it was light outside, and woke both Draco and I as soon as she was out of bed.

“Happy birthday, my darling!” I said, as enthusiastically as I could manage for five in the morning. I lit the room with a soft glow, as to not startle Draco too much, and Cassia jumped into my lap, and I hugged her close.

Cassia’s excitement overflowed her own aura, seeping around the room.

I summoned the hidden gifts for Cassia, and handed them to her, watching in amusement as wrapping paper was torn to shreds in seconds.

I had never quite felt or seen anything as amazing as the pure childish joy of a birthday morning; Cassia’s adorable excitement at each gift filled me with a kind of proud, almost-parental joy. It is not enough for me just to protect her; I need to make her the most important person in my world. And today, I think I am succeeding.

When Cassia has a pile of shredded paper on one side, and a pile of gifts on the other, I can not help but give in to the request of chocolate. Cassia devours a Cauldron in seconds, and has a second not long after that.

The inevitable sugar high will hit soon enough, and I take the opportunity beforehand to help her get dressed and ready for the day.

Cassia’s clothes of choice this morning were a set of adorable robes, rainbow-themed, and a little too long. I use a simple cutting spell to take off the excess material and fashion her a hairband out of the fabric. I magic her hair a soft pink upon request, and brush the knots out that have appeared overnight.

During this time, Draco’s managed to fall back to sleep, and Cassia leaves him to rest at the promise of pancakes.

We manage not to make too much noise creeping past all the sleeping rooms, and head into the lounge.

“So Cassia, it’s entirely up to you, what do you want to do?” I ask her, putting a quick silencing spell around the room.

“Magic!” She exclaims loudly, and I grin at her.

“What sort of magic, Cass?” I ask, trying to come up with my own ideas.

_This magic!_ She giggles excitedly at the stunned expression on my face. If she wants a Legilimency lesson, then I am not going to object at the chance and enthusiasm.

“Okay, baby, then. If that's what you want, you're going to have to listen to me and I’ll teach you,” I explain, and she nods, bouncing on her feet.

_Okay, so remember you can't just invade people’s minds without their permission, that's the first lesson, yeah?_

Cassia mentally nods at me without moving her physical form, so I guess that is my first indicator of her power. That takes decent skill.

I push a single memory forward, of dinner on Christmas day and the spread of food before anyone had attacked it. I took down all the shields in front of it, except one very thin and basic one.

_Cass, what am I thinking about?_

_Christmas dinner_ , she replied without hesitation, and I grin supportively through my mind.

I switch out the memory, increasing the shield strength, and Cassia gets it right again and again, until I am really pushing with some of my strongest shields, and that’s where she falters.

_Well done, Cassia! I’m so impressed with you_ , I praise her, and she blushes in her pride.

_You’re good at invading; I’m going to take down the shields I’ve put in your mind, and I want you to try and put them back on your own, okay?_

She nods, a little uncertainty creeping into her aura. In all honesty, it is probably a good time to teach her this; the castle is too loud, too full of people and other magic. Here, everyone is sleeping and we have some time to figure it out.

I take down the layers of shields – shields I would never have dared to out up in such depth in anyone other than a Walters at Cassia’s age. Once her mind is entirely open, my stress levels increase a little, but I remind myself carefully that it is a controlled environment, and I can put them back in a heartbeat if anything goes wrong.

_How do I put shields up?_ Cassia asks me nervously, and I think she is feeling the same exposure I am.

_Okay, Cassia. I want you to visualise a barrier. It’s shimmering slightly but you can see through it. Like you're inside a bubble, but try as hard as you can, you can't break the bubble. Bring all your memories inside the bubble, keep them all protected inside your bubble._

As I speak, I hover on the edge of her mind, watching as the shields flicker into existence, then disappear.

_Have another go_ , I encourage, and she makes another effort, and the shield holds for a few seconds, until her concentration dips and the shield falls.

_It’s okay, baby, you're doing really well. Do you want to try something different?_ I offer, and she nods. I put the shields back into her mind, and Cassia’s nerves settle a little.

A side effect my grandmother spoke about in one of her entries was the nerves and the anxiety surrounding being unshielded when my aunt had been learning to build her own shields. But, I have not had many options, since Cassia has been living at the castle with me. She could not be unshielded; it is completely out of the question.

If we were living in the Manor, then it wouldn't be an issue, and I would have let Cassia naturally build up her shields.

_Okay, so we can see auras. What does my aura look like now?_ I ask her, and Cassia squints at me a little, then a smile breaks out on her face.

_Excited, happy,_ she replies, and I grin. I project a different emotion, and Cassia frowns but says, _Sadness_.

I get rid of the projection as quickly as I can, and her smile returns. We play around with a few other projections, and by the time I’m running low on ideas, Cassia is getting bored.

I summon the set of paints I bought her, adding a protection spell to her clothes as she raced towards the table. Grinning at my excitable sister, I sat beside her, taking a brush and listening to her chatter as I let my artistic side flow.

***

When the house clock chimes seven, I give Cassia permission to go and wake some of the others. I gave Ron as long to sleep as I promised, though judging by his sleepiness when he comes downstairs, Harry, Hermione and Draco in tow, I would wager it still was not enough.

I levitate mugs of tea towards the four of them, and the boys accept theirs gratefully, Hermione content with just water.

_Cassie, can you tell me what Harry is feeling right now?_ Remember, don't invade his memories, just look at his aura, I ask my sister, and she grins as her gaze zeroes in on Harry.

_Tired but happy_ , Cassia proclaims, and I nod to her. She is reading just the top layer of his aura, which is what I expected, but practice on any real emotions rather than my own projections is good training.

_What about Ron?_ I ask, and she considers. Draco catches my eye, noticing something unsaid between Cassia and I, and I just give him a knowing smirk.

_Tired and grumpy_ , Cassia stated, and I nod. Ron plus mornings has never been a good mix, even less so as he has got older.

I flick my wand, almost in preparation for the return to school where I am going to have to use my wand all the time. Ingredients jump out of cupboards, and pancake batter makes itself with suitable flourish.

Cassia giggles, and I add edible, colour-changing glitter to the mix. As Ron eyes it sceptically, I suppress a grin.

“I promise it won't hurt you,” I wink, and Ron grumbles a little into his drink.

The birthday girl gets chocolate and fruit on her pancakes, as much as she likes, and I throw an anti-sickness potion into her juice. That is something I would definitely rather avoid for today.

We do more painting as I insist on downtime right after breakfast, and I enchant the pictures to make a little film reel, entertaining not only the child in the room, but also the intellectual minds of my friends.

“What spell is that?” Hermione asked, interestedly.

“Well, I’m going to disappoint you, but I have no idea. I kind of just made it up,” I reply honestly, and Harry simply rolls his eyes at me.

“Of course it is completely made up,” Hermione laughs, and I flash her cocky grin.

“Maybe it could be my extra project for Charms,” I muse aloud, and Draco nods.

“Easily could, for enchanting storybooks and stuff for kids,” he reasons, and my mind begins to whir with actual possibility as I try and think of a way to flesh this out into a full project.

As the rest of the house wakes, Cassia’s excitement only grows at the attention. I duck into the kitchen as Hermione shows Cassia some showy animation magic of her toys, smiling faintly.

“You’re amazing with her,” Remus remarked as I leant back against the counter.

“She’s so much like Mother already,” I say quietly. Remus nods tightly. “Sometimes I don't know if I’m going to be able to handle it as she gets older,” I confess in a rush, and Remus tilts his head sympathetically.

“Maeve, you're doing amazingly; Maggie would be proud of you,” Remus encouraged, and I shook my head. He quirks his eyebrow and I shrug.

“I spoke with her portrait at the Manor – apparently I’ve been slacking too much with her, not focussing enough on Legilimency and discipline,” I manage to say in a steady voice, rubbing at my temples. “Bloody Walters,” I mutter, and Remus grins.

“You know how often I heard your mother say that exact phrase?” He asked, and I sighed a little.

I’d considered the possibility that the portraits in the hall had been magically doctored to give the perfect representation of the Walters’ image, for those rare occasions we had guests.

If there was a way to reverse that magic, which could only be a layer over the top of the natural magic of the portrait, I vowed in that instant to find it. I do not even know if it was possible, but for the chance to have a real conversation with my mother, not one doctored by generations of rules and ideals, I would try anything.

“Now, stop your worrying, and go and spend the day with your sister,” Remus mock-scolded, and I grinned. After a second of deliberation, I recalled the right memory, letting it play at the front of my mind for a second.

“One more thing,” I insist, to Remus’ surprise. “I don't know if she ever told you, but before everything happened, Mother wanted you to be my Godfather.” Remus froze, paling slightly. My brain almost short-circuits at his reaction, and I continue in a rush, “I don't want to push anything and this is unconventional beyond belief, but I thought you would want to kn-” I am cut off by Remus hugging me fiercely, and a breath of what might have been a laugh escaped me.

When he lets me go, and logic returns to his mind, I continue my explanation. “Grandmother would have never allowed it, but Mother always kept it on her mind, trying to find a loophole in the rules for you.”

Remus’ aura is brighter than I have ever seen it, and I know I made the right decision to tell him.

“We don't have to tell anyone,” I say, as I notice the nugget of worry at the back of his mind. “Especially not Harry,” I add, my own nerves returning to me.

Remus nods, ever the practical man. “Did you know, all the way back when I was your teacher?” he asks after a moment of quiet as we both process the situation, and the other’s reaction.

I nod slowly. “No one knew I was a Walters, you didn't know me – I could hardly spring it on you then.” Remus nods his understanding, and I grin.

“Now bloody hell go and spend time with your sister,” Remus insists with glittering eyes, and I nod, saluting him before I leave the room.

I can not deny the warm fuzzy feeling inside me as I head into the living room that Remus, despite all of both of our issues, had accepted me. In that one single conversation, I gained a godfather.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> \- Caity B xx


	34. Back To School

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: swearing, slight drug abuse
> 
> The next chapter will be posted on the 10th of January. I have exams coming up and don't have as much time for writing as I'd like, so I'm giving myself a little extra time. After exams, I hope to be able to do two chapters a week :)

The rest of the holidays passed in a bit of a blur. I did not let myself think too much about the knowledge Mrs Malfoy possessed about the Walters. I tried not to pry Draco for what had happened in that conversation between him and Snape. I avoided causing any more trouble or make any more sudden disappearances.

Draco seemed to get along well enough with the Weasleys, although a lot of it was forced on both ends – that much was to be expected. Though with Cassia around, no one dared anything too argumentative, lest they upset her. Cassia loves Draco in the same way she loves all my friends, and arguments between them would be less than ideal.

We were all due back to Hogwarts for the start of January, and we made it to the train on time, snagging our usual compartment. Draco stayed with us, and though he would never admit it in front of Harry or Ron, he was a little scared of reuniting with the Slytherins. He had no way of knowing how much information his father would have passed on to the other death eaters, and hardly wanted to take any chances he did not have to.

The space was more cramped than ever, and Cassia sat happily in my lap for the majority of the journey. Ginny disappeared soon enough to find her other friends, and I was left with Draco, Harry, Ron and Hermione, all watching me carefully as I entertained Cassia with sparks of magic and little spells.

“You guys are so easily entertained,” I mutter as Cassia falls asleep, and turn to them with a sly grin.

Harry just rolls his eyes at me, and Hermione instead started up an academic conversation, which Draco easily engaged in.

Ron asked Harry about the Quidditch practice schedule, and we chatted about the rest of the season, in not too many specifics, since Draco was on the Slytherin team. That was the one boundary we all unanimously agreed on, and we all knew better than to try and cross it.

Just after the trolley witch has been around, I felt a rush of anger heading our way, and when I sent my threads of Legilimency magic to find the source, I found a group of Slytherins, all sixth and seventh years, heading our way with Draco on their minds. I looked at my sister eating sweets on Draco’s lap, and my mind was made up instantly.

Bringing myself out of the room, I sent as much magic as I dared to the approaching Slytherins, changing their minds and altering their moods, removing the anger from the fronts of their minds and forcing them to change their paths to head back to their carriage.

Controlling that many people at once was difficult, and I knew it wouldn't be permanent. I made sure I did not remove the memory causing the anger, I refused to let myself look at it, in case of accidental tampering. Additonally, all of them being told by respective death-eater parents that Draco had refused the Dark Mark was not top of my priority list of things I need to see.

So I just changed their minds a little, unfortunately just delaying the inevitable confrontation.

I simply did not want the confrontation in front of Cassia, not my fellow Gryffindors – a fight at the start of term would not go down well with the professors, especially considering the number of prefects involved.

Harry snaps his fingers in front of my face, and my reflexes take over, and my fingers wrap around his hand in a second. He flinches back, and I apologise instantly.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about my extra project for Charms,” I lied, and Hermione smiles at me, buying it without question. I don't know if I am even doing an extra project for Charms; the idea of the animation spell had gone out the window when I tried to consider what sort of incantation I would need to use. I might have to figure that out now that I have mentioned it. Shit.

Draco is unconvinced, but he, thankfully, does not call me out on it either, with Cassia right here. I breathe a silent sigh of relief, and join in with the conversation as much as I dare, still keeping tabs on the Slytherins, and anyone who comes past the door of our compartment.

Maybe I am as paranoid as the rest of my family was.

***

At the feast that evening, in welcoming students back for the new term, I kept a nervous eye on Draco at the Slytherin table, barely eating anything myself.

“Maeve, come on, eat something,” Harry persuaded gently. “Malfoy can look after himself; besides, they are his friends.”

Cassia was sat between Ron and Hermione across the table from Harry and I. I didn't have Cassia as an excuse, but at the anxiety in my eyes, Harry didn't push me. Instead, he talked about Defence classes with Tonks and asked me what I thought of my Magical Creatures NEWT.

I let myself get caught up in the conversation, one eye on the Slytherin table the whole time.

As the meal draws to a close, and nothing appears to have happened, I am more than unsettled. Harry thinks I am crazy, because questioning when good things happen is not a normal reaction, apparently. I watch Draco leave with the Slytherins in our year, and I monitor each and every one of their emotions, waiting to find something incriminating. There is nothing.

Harry walks down to my rooms with me, concerned I will do something stupid, though he will not admit it. Cassia heads upstairs when we get in, her art stuff the only thing on her mind. Harry hovers in the doorway, watching my movements.

“Yes?” I ask, my patience tight.

“Maeve, you spent all of dinner reading people’s minds and their emotions. Don’t try and tell me you're okay,” Harry said firmly, and I turn away, making tea the muggle way for something to do with my hands.

I don't know how to react to Harry’s observations. I didn't realise it was that obvious. Or maybe Harry is just more in tune with my emotions that I let myself believe.

“What’s really going on, Maeve?” Harry asks quietly, stilling my fidgeting hands. Cassia comes bounding down the stairs, pausing like a startled deer when she notices us. I shake my head at Harry, who looks like he wants to push the subject, even with Cassia here. I light the fire with a thought, and help Cassia set up her new paints she got for her birthday.

_Damnit Harry, not now,_ I tell him, _Once Cassia’s sleeping._

_Fine,_ Harry concedes. _But don't you dare try and get out of this later._

I do not reply, and I fake as much happiness for my sister as I can, doing some sketching for Magical Creatures whilst Harry reads some of a Defence book I found lying around the Manor library, that thankfully is not charmed to only show up to Walters, or to do something worse to an innocent reader. Books like that I left at the Manor. Safer for everyone like that.

When the castle bell tolls eight o'clock, I shepherd Cassia upstairs for bed. In the exhaustion of the day’s travel, she falls asleep easily, helped by the magical mobile, and the plush hippogriff toy she adores.

Harry is waiting patiently downstairs, the book closed on the table. I can not decode the emotions running through his mind as I take the seat beside him.

“Maeve, is this just about Draco, or is it more than that?” Harry asks, blunt even for him.

“It’s just … being back at that house, brought back a lot of memories, you know?” I say, biting my lip. “I can't lose anyone else.”

“You need some rest, Maeve. Malfoy can protect himself,” Harry persuades me. He offers me tea, and I half-heartedly accept, staring into the fire.

To control all those Slytherins was very, _very_ illegal, enough for a lifetime sentence to Azkaban, probably. I hardly think protecting my friends is enough of a defence, especially considering how corrupt Kingsley seems to think the Ministry to be following Fudge’s resignation. There is no way to prove anything without another Legilimens, and then the evidence for the court is sketchy at best. Besides, poor little Muggleborn Maeve Ellis could never have that kind of Legilimency power.

If Draco finds out what I did, I am not sure how he might react. Whilst he seems to have gotten over his initial phobia of powerful Legilimency, I am not exactly sure what seeing the product of said powerful Legilimency would do, especially in such a negative way. I kept my promise to him, not to read his own mind, but I pretty much exploited every loophole around that promise.

My Gryffindor morals are at war with my Walters instincts; this was the coward’s way out of what would have surely been an unpleasant experience. It was immoral, illegal and yet I don't regret my actions. And yet, if I had to make the decision again, I would choose the same option – the option where I protect my sister and my friends and my boyfriend.

Harry hands me a mug of fruity tea, and I smile gratefully at him.

“If you want to talk about anything, Maeve, I’m here for you.”

I shake my head, sipping my tea and staring into the fire.

“If Malfoy comes here, can he get past the wards?” Harry asks curiously, and I am instantly suspicious. A million questions run through my head as I nod. I had modified the wards just before the Christmas break to let Draco in whenever. I take another sip of tea, recoiling at the sharp tang of magic in the hot water.

“Harry Potter, did you drug me?” I ask carefully, and I am met with a sheepish grin. I set the mug down carefully, watching as my hands are shaking at the effort. Whatever it is, it is fast-acting, and messing with my brain.

Harry puts a forceful hand on my shoulder. “Lie down, Maeve; don't fight it.”

I fight it anyway, trying to stay awake, thinking of Draco, trying to make basic magic work. Everything slipped from my mind the instant I snatched up the thought.

“You utter wanker,” I manage to say, just as unconsciousness claims me.

***

As my eyes flicker open, and the ceiling of my common room comes into focus, I frown. I will myself to calm, the anger leeching out of my body as I find Draco’s aura close, and in tact.

When I sit up, I take in the sight of Harry sleeping in an armchair, curled up smaller than I thought was possible. I can never stay angry at him – I just can’t. I toss a blanket over him, and check on Cassia with my mind. She seems to have slept much better than usual the past few days; maybe she is still on the high of her birthday?

I make non-spiked tea, and set about creating space for all the books I brought back with me from the Manor. The journals felt too important to just sit on a shelf with the textbooks and other non-fiction, but with the protection spells on them, I doubt it is a security risk.

The start of a new term always feels admin-heavy anyway, so I give into that, organising essays and quills and trying to make some sort of plan for when I am going to fit everything in around my insane schedule. It was a nightmare.

Cassia woke, and came ambling down the stairs, looking for a cuddle. I scooped her up in my arms, and she pressed a hand to my face, showing me her dreams.

In her mind, Hogwarts was Cassia’s favourite place to be, and she had dreamt of flying, something I was unprepared for. That would be something I had to add to a morning routine – flying just for the fun of it.

Harry stirred a little while into the beginnings of a study session, with Cassia reading some storybooks to herself.

“I can't believe you actually did that,” I start conversationally.

Harry’s eyes widen, darting around the room, waiting for some sort of counter-move from me. I laugh, shaking my head.

“I’m not going to do anything,” I promise, and smirk at him. “Although, I believe Tonks’ duelling tournament starts soon; maybe I’ll just have to kick your arse in that.”

Harry smiles at the challenge, and the door to the common room opens, with Draco in the doorway.

“Hey love, how’re your mates?” I ask, fighting to keep my tone casual. I can see no signs of damage, physical not mental, and I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion I may have overreacted on the train.

Draco quirked an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, all fine, no one mentioned anything. I think Father would have kept it quiet; it's embarrassing for him after all.”

I nod, and he takes a seat next to me, pulling a face at the Runic alphabets scattered over the desk. I feel him nudging at the edges of my mind, and I allow his thoughts through.

_What’s Potter doing here?_ Draco asked, as nonchalantly as he could manage. I try not to roll my eyes.

_Drugging me into sleeping,_ I reply, with equal nonchalance. Draco’s fist curls, and I put my hand over it, calming his temper. _In the best way possible. I was perhaps being a tiny bit paranoid about you not getting along with the Slytherins if they’d found out about the incidents over the holidays._

Draco’s eyes soften, lips curving into a soft smile.

_Oh Maevey,_ Draco said softly, and kissed me gently. A pillow comes flying at our heads, and Draco manages to catch it with his seeker reflexes. I send a glare at Harry, who shrugs.

“At least I didn't hex you.”

“Shouldn't you run off and let Ginny know you didn't get kidnapped?” I sass back, and the Gryffindor blushes the same shade as his tie. I didn’t need Legilimency to know the relationship brewing between Harry and the youngest Weasley.

“I’ll see you later then,” Harry said, hugging Cassia and leaving the room.

Draco joined me in getting some schoolwork done, and in less than an hour, I was practically pulling my hair out at this new alphabet I couldn't get to compute in my brain. I gave up, throwing the book over my shoulder to land neatly on the sofa. Draco watched my actions with a raised eyebrow, and I just shrugged.

I moved onto Potions, checking through my essay with minute precision – everything I submit for Snape has to be perfect in my eyes to even receive an “Acceptable” grade. There is no way I want to actually fail an assignment.

“Maevey, are you sure you want to do all these subjects?” Draco asked, picking up my schedule with a disdainful expression. Admittedly, it was jam-packed, and kind of gave me a headache to look at.

“I like my subjects,” I say honestly, and Draco, noticing an argument brewing that he did not want to have, dropped it.

We worked for a little longer on our respective assignments, and I watched with a little jealousy as Draco completed the Runes essay with relative ease, when I had struggled to even comprehend the alphabet.

I put it down to exhaustion, and promised myself I would tackle it again tomorrow.

***

The first week of term was rough, in almost every sense of the word. By the time we reached the DA meeting on Saturday, I had some serious aggression I needed to reign in.

There had been a sudden and very apparent jump in the difficulty of nearly all my subjects, other than Defence and Magical Creatures. Cassia had a constant want for Legilimency practice, which I agreed to every time, even though it meant I had to finish my Charms homework the breakfast before it was due. Quidditch practice and assignments lost my evenings, and piles and piles of extra reading for the projects we had to complete this year drowned my mornings away.

My only sane point was falling asleep in Draco’s arms. And, even then, it was only sleeping, though I knew we both wanted more than that. But my body was too exhausted to do anything other than fall asleep.

When I tried to get up on Saturday morning, Draco pinned me to the bed.

“Stay here, let me go and see Cassia,” he had insisted, and I relented. But, by the time he had returned, I was reading a book on the limitation of modern Charms, and Draco straight up summoned the book out of my hands.

“Maevey, please, give yourself a break,” he pleaded, and I sighed. “Careful or I’ll take a leaf out of Potter’s book and put a sleeping potion in your tea.”

“Bloody Slytherin,” I muttered with a grin. “I’m fine, just needed to adjust to being back at school, that’s all.”

Draco eyed me sceptically. “Maeve, please. Give it until the end of January, and if it's too much, then take something off your plate?” he asks. I relent, too tired to argue. He climbs back into bed with me, pulling me into his arms.

“The only thing I have to do today is help out with the DA,” I say, looking up to watch for Draco’s reaction. He just sighs, nodding. “You could come with me?” I pose as a question, unsure if he would ever agree. It is something he has definitely been vehemently against in the past, and nothing much has changed since the last time I invited him.

“Uh, I’m not sure, Maevey,” Draco hesitated, and I shrug. “But in the name of making sure you don't overdo it, I’ll come.”

I lean up and kiss him, smiling into it.

“Thank you, although I’m sure I can handle a bunch of our fourth and fifth years,” I say as we break apart, and Draco smiles lovingly at me. With my exhausted brain, I missed the doubts creeping into his mind.

***

I may have wildly overestimated the length of my temper.

Harry had planned on a practice for charms like _ascendio_ , _arresto momentum_ and other charms like that that are useful in duels to throw an opponent off-guard rather than disarming them completely.

I warded the floor, as requested, to soften it, and watched the chaos ensue. It took all of fifteen minutes for Harry to change his mind, and Harry fell back on what he knows best – duelling.

“Okay, so we all know the rules of a wizarding duel – if I see a single dark spell used, this session is over and you can go and explain yourself to your Head of House,” Harry warned, before splitting people up into pairs.

I kept myself back, and away from the pairings. I would much rather supervise, as Harry brought me here, than give anything away accidentally.

It was when Harry had paired everyone else, and raised an eyebrow suggestively at me that I laughed, and shook my head.

“Maybe you and Draco could have a rematch, since that duel in second year went a little awry,” I suggest, garnering the attention of some of the nearby duellers.

Unsurprisingly, they both agree to the challenge and the room expands back a little, to give space for what would most likely be a somewhat explosive duel.

I left them to decide their terms, walking around watching the other duels, giving tips and tricks out as I saw fit.

Contrary to popular opinion, I am not trying to dethrone Harry as the leader of Dumbledore’s Army, but someone has got to make sure we are still teaching things rather than just aimlessly repeating spells, whilst Harry lets his competitive streak win out.

I adjust Neville’s wand grip, persuade Ginny to work on her wordless casting against Hermione, begrudgingly help some fourth years whose shields are not quite absorbing an oncoming spell in its entirety. I guess I have no real problem with the fourth years, except the incessant desire to talk about my position on the Quidditch team. I move on as quickly as I can.

Pausing a little way away, as not to distract either party, I watch Harry and Draco’s duel, and around me, duels are halting to watch what is going on at the front.

When a stunner rebounds off Draco’s shield, I quickly cast a shield around the duel, letting no haywire spells hit the unprepared crowd.

Cassia runs into the crowd, finding my hand, and I shush her carefully, making sure she does not try and talk to either of the boys now. I am getting better at being less unnerved each time Cassia initiates a conversation, but I doubt Harry or Draco are quite there yet.

In some sort of confused nostalgia, Harry casts _alarte ascendare,_ and Draco goes flying towards the ceiling. The floor is still cushioned from where I put wards earlier, but Draco catches himself with a _arresto momentum_ spell, hastily, and wordlessly, cast.

Draco scrambled to his feet, his shield just about still in tact, and reinforces it just in time as Harry’s _expelliarmus_ would have easily shattered it.

Harry was a second too late getting his own shield back, and Draco managed to hit him with a _tantallegra_ spell. Harry’s feet moved like crazy, but the Gryffindor managed to send yet another _expelliarmus_ at Draco just as the Slytherin sent a _stupefy_. The two spells collide in the middle in a shower of sparks, a touch closer to Harry, and in that, blinding him for a little longer as he tries to counter the dancing hex.

Draco has a fiercely-determined expression on his face, and I know that glint in his eyes. Draco uses Harry’s momentary distraction as a tool and fires an _expelliarmus_ at Harry. But the spell does not land like Draco expects, and it turns back, ricocheting off the mirroring spell Harry placed in front of himself, to hit Draco in his surprise.

Draco’s wand goes flying, and Harry grins a little, taking down the mirroring charm. I take down the shield between us and them as Draco collects his wand.

For a moment, I envision Draco’s anger at being bested by the Boy Who Lived, and I am prepared to intervene in a second. But, instead of the catastrophe I imagined, Draco takes Harry’s outstretched hand in a friendly gesture.

“Well duelled, Potter,” is all I catch from what Draco said as the boys shook hands. I smile at the amiable exchange, then send everyone back to their own duels, encouraging practicing at tactics like Harry used.

_Nice work,_ I say to Harry across the mental link, and he grins at me. Draco catches the smile, and raises a single eyebrow across at me.

_Well fought, my love_ , I tell him, careful to change mental channels.

_Thanks Maevey; I see you’ve been teaching him your tricks?_ Draco asks, and before I can reply, I feel the whizzing of a spell at my back, and I throw up a shield without thinking, without turning around, and the stunner rebounds, hitting the ceiling in an explosion.

I had not moved, and I wish I had let the spell hit me as the whole room falls silent.

“Who cast that spell?” Harry demands, and I shake my head at him, almost imperceptibly. It was probably just a misfire in a duel.

“When you're in the middle of any situation with spells flying,” I start, turning on the spot to face the room and trying to diffuse the amazement. “It’s always best to have a shield up, and if you can keep one at your back, even better. I put that shield there whilst we were all watching Harry and Draco duel, because _I knew_ I lost focus on my surroundings. Defensive magic is your new best friend – use it in your duels.”

With my cheeks flushed at the attention of the room, I turned back to Harry and Draco, a small smile on my face.

Situation handled.

Just about.

For now.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> \- Caity B xx


	35. Apparition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none really, I barely even swore in this chapter :)
> 
> Soooo ... early update anyone?
> 
> Since the UK is in a constant state of flux, I now have no final exams, and my mocks are moved back to the end of March. 
> 
> Meaning, I can update more regularly, so my next update will be Tuesday 12th January 2021. My plan is to try and update twice a week throughout January and February, and then take a revision break during March, although I’m not sure how much longer this book is going to go on for :(
> 
> Anyways, on with the update!

As it turned out, I had wildly misread the anger of the Slytherins on the train. When I peeked into Daphne’s mind across the Great Hall at breakfast, I saw that the annoyance had only come from being upstaged by a bunch of Gryffindors.

At least I was wrong. I am thankful for that. Even if it did mean I took highly illegal actions for a petty house dispute. But, that aside, I am glad.

Saturday morning, in the middle of January, brought the first Apparition lesson for the sixth-years. The whole year-group was present – no one wanted to miss out on this opportunity. Draco and I entered the Hall together, just as a short wizard in pristine Ministry robes began speaking from the platform at the front. He had a high voice, probably projected through an amplification spell, and the weary expression on his face hardly seemed to fit with the tenor his voice.

“Now that everyone is here, we shall begin. Firstly, I would like to introduce you to the three Ds of Apparition. Destination, determination, deliberation. These three things will help you to successfully apparate. Now, find a space, six feet apart from anyone else, in front of a hoop.”

Hoops appeared from nowhere on his word, the invisibility spell having lifted. There was a scrambling for a place next to friends, the hall enveloped in a flurry of movement. Neville, having been a little slow, ended up trailing half the length of the Hall to find the last remaining hoop. Most of the Gryffindors collectively glared at the Slytherins snickering at Neville, and Nott gulped a little as I made eye contact with him. Someone clearly had not forgotten the last time he crossed me. Good.

I looked encouragingly across at Draco, and he smirked back. Clearly, someone was confident. That Malfoy swagger he is so well known for – I love it more than he realises.

“Now, focus on your destination. This time, the destination is inside the hoop. For this hour only, the headmaster has lifted the wards that prevent apparition inside Hogwarts, just in this room. Do not try and apparate out of this room, on pain of a very horrible splinching,” the wizard warned us, and I rolled my eyes at the drama.

None of the Heads of Houses at the front appeared perturbed at the warning, so perhaps there was more truth to it than I assumed. I have never heard of someone being splinched through wards – bouncing off them and ending up somewhere random, yes. Splinched? Maybe with the confines of the room, and the limited space for a rebound, a splinching is possible, or maybe it is all scare tactics. I would rather not test my own confidence.

“Now that you are focussed on your destination, you must determine your course of movement. You want to appear inside the circle, all of you in tact. Keep that focus of your _destination_ ,” the wizard warned in a shout at Ron turned around to roll his eyes at Harry.

“Once you are focussed on your destination, and you are determined on how to get there, step three is apparating. Turn on the spot, on my command now, and move with deliberation. One-”

I kept my concentration, feeling the subtle wave of everyone’s concern at being thrown in at the deep end of apparition, with little to no theory. A stark contrast from how everyone behaves in every other class, I noted with a internal grin.

“Two-”

Draco’s mind nudged mine, but I shut down the connection, with barely a second thought.

“Three!”

The hall spun around me, and my spirits fell as I found myself in the same place. But in a glance around the hall, no one had moved, and a few people had lost their balance, ending up on the floor.

I dropped the perfectionist attitude a little; first tries at any magic often go wrong. It is no mark against me. As a collective, we tried again, and nothing happened on the second attempt.

On the third attempt, as I spun around, I felt a wooshing in my mind, and when I stumbled back into reality – inside my hoop – the hall was silent for a second.

Then, there was applause.

“Well done, Maevey,” Draco said with a grin as I stepped out of the hoop. The ministry wizard’s jaw slackened, and McGonagall was wearing a rare smile.

“Our first apparition. Congratulation, Miss…” he trailed off and I let myself smile.

“Ellis,” I filled in helpfully, and he smiled.

“Let’s see if you can do it again, Miss Ellis. Most first times for apparition are a fluke; we must teach you to master consistency.”

Apparating was a sickening sensation; it made my head spin and my body sway. But, renewing my focus for the next attempt, I managed to successfully aparate again. Though this time there was no applause. Instead, there were screams. Panic flooded me, and I worked to regulate, blocking out emotions that were not my own from tampering with my aura. But the fear did not come from a single source; it expanded and flowed from all around me, almost suffocating in its intensity. I felt my balance falter at little at the sheer concentration of fear.

Hannah Abbott was inside her hoop, five feet away from her leg. The professors converged, and cast a few dramatic-looking spells. Puffs of purple smoke and loud cracks, and then Hannah was reunited with her leg. Draco grabbed my arm, steadying me with a worried look on his face.

_Sorry, love. That was one hell of a lot of fear to process through_ , I explain, and Draco manages a tight smile.

_Just be careful Maevey, don't splinch yourself,_ Draco reminded me, worry fogging his eyes.

“Well demonstrated! Splinching, the act of partial apparition, where you leave a part of yourself behind, can be deadly, particularly over long distances. You must stay determined, else you may leave parts of yourself behind.”

Hannah was lead out the room by Professor Sprout, and the lesson continued, though the nerves in the room grew gradually greater.

By the time the hour was up, I was still the only one to have successfully apparated, though there had been another splinching – this time it was Goyle. He lost his hands, both of them, in a double-splinch.

“We will meet again this time next week,” the Ministry wizard called at the castle bell struck the end of the hour. “Miss Ellis, may I speak with you?”

People began filing out of the hall, and I assured all my friends that there was nothing to be concerned about. Even though my own nerves were strung tight; I did not mean to show too much power. I hardly even knew it was too much power to begin with.

“Never, in all my years of teaching, has a student been able to apparate consistently on their first try,” the wizard said sternly, and I could not read his aura, too exhausted from the continual apparition. “I am truly impressed, Miss Ellis. What are you looking to do after Hogwarts?”

I paused. “Perhaps Auror training. But I was considering…” I trail off, realising Snape’s continued presence. The wizard prompted me with a smile.

“Maybe a Potions Mastery,” I managed, and I felt the shock radiating from the current Potions Master.

“You would be a credit to the Auror Department, Miss Ellis,” he complimented me, then left the room on the account of speaking with Dumbledore.

I could feel Snape’s presence all too keenly as I sat heavily on the steps up to the dais. I ran a shaking hand through my hair, sighing.

“You’re practically shouting your thoughts at me,” I start bluntly, the tact, and rational thought, having drained out of me with my dipping energy levels. Snape gazes at me with unfeeling eyes. “If you have something to say, say it.”

The professor remained silent for a minute, and I saw his mind gently softening. Then, “If you are to address me, you will call me Professor.”

Outside of this school we are equals, both Order members. However, it would hardly be a stretch to think that Snape would cling to his power within school.

“Well, Professor, did you have something you wanted to say to me?” I ask indignantly, jumping to my feet with a face like thunder. “That I’m not good enough to even consider a Mastery? That I’m wasting my time? That none of your Potions Guild would consider me with a single word from you?”

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Walters-” Snape hissed in rage, but my own anger was enough to counter it.

“Do not call me that!” I shouted, and his face twisted at the realisation. “You don’t get to call me that!”

“I-” the professor started, and rage morphed across his face. “Fifty points, Miss Ellis. Do not push me.”

I stalked away without being dismissed, feeling the blow of the house points. I know I was pushing my luck, but I saw red at the name Walters coming from Snape. I should never have told him.

I wandered aimlessly, letting my feet choose the way rather than my head. I ended up outside the Room of Requirement, and when I paced in front of the door, I was admitted into a near-empty room, a fireplace on the far wall.

Slightly perplexed, I stood in the centre of the empty room, wondering what the Room had read in my mind, what it thought I needed.

A large empty space?

My magic had quickly built back up at my anger, and I could no longer feel the exhaustion of the morning. I needed to use it, get rid of some of it, lest I risk an outburst in a more public place, with more room for error.

Thinking of the most complicated spells I could, I set about completing them; layers upon layers of wards and protective spells, akin to those surrounding Walters Manor. It was intense, and pointless warding since it covered only a single wall of the Room, and not even the wall with the door in it.

The exercise helped me figure out the gaps in my warding around mine and Cassia’s rooms.

The door burst open, and I instinctively levelled my wand at the intruders, sighing when it was Draco and Harry.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Harry exclaimed as he took in the empty room, and the shimmering of wards.

“Getting rid of an excess of anger,” I reply honestly. “I didn't want to risk hurting anyone, so I came here instead.”

Draco is mildly horrified, but soon collects himself.

“Next time don't shut me out, please Maeve. I’ve been worried,” he said, keeping the pleading tone out of his voice at Harry’s presence.

I nod my agreement, and when they turn to leave, expecting me to follow, I stay put. Before Harry can voice the question, I explain.

“I’m not ready yet, I feel like I could explode any minute. I’m staying until that passes.”

Draco glanced at the wards, and then back to me. “Then you are going to need a stronger outlet than warding,” he said, and both he and Harry appeared to have the same idea at the same time. I set my jaw.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned, but neither of the two boys would listen.

“Come on, we have Quidditch this afternoon; you are not missing practice,” Harry informed me, and I glared at him for a second, for holding his position over me.

As I hesitate, Draco rolls his eyes, drawing his wand on me.

“Oh, so that's how it is?” I ask as Draco fires a spell at me. He nods, and casts again. I see my lack of choice in the matter, and defend against him, sending a couple of easy spells his way.

“Come on, Potter. You know she can take us both,” Draco called, and my shield nearly fell as I laughed. Harry smirked a little at Draco’s embarrassment.

“Maybe I could,” I wink at Draco, whose usually pale face reddens. In my distraction, and possibly in an effort to distract us, Draco sends another spell, a burst of red light, almost a stunner but a little different. Pausing to think what it might have been was not an option, as Harry had decided to join in, sending a predictable _expelliarmus_ my way.

The fighting continues, and as spells fly faster and faster, adrenaline courses through me. A sort of madness takes over my mind, and I’m casting offensive spells with one hand, keeping my defences up and running with my wand. I catch the slight grimace sent between the boys, as they suddenly realise what they got themselves in for. That I have been holding back a lot, for the simple reason of safety of anyone around me.

When a dark spell collides with my shield, I’m momentarily stunned, before I let a surge of power cut down both of their shields, obliterating them entirely, and disarming them both.

We all breathe heavily in the destroyed room, the walls and ceiling littered with the marks of rebounded spells. A few scorch marks are scattered on the wall behind Harry and Draco, and any spells they sent that missed me were absorbed easily by the warding at my back.

“Did you- did you try and curse me?” I manage to say between deep shuddering breaths as I take in as much air as I can. Draco nods, and my first instinct is to laugh.

“Fair enough,” I acquiesced, and that set the boys laughing too. The castle bell interrupted our amusement and we left the Room still smiling.

When we left, I turned back to watch for the door to melt, but nothing happened.

“Oh fuck,” I muttered, attracting Harry and Draco’s attention to the not-closing door. “The room might not be able to close, and shift, around those wards, I should probably take them down.”

Draco sighed. “That could take you hours – you know how complicated you made it.”

I shake my head. “Every ward has its weakness. This one need brute-forcing through the outer two layers, then I can slip between it and take the rest of it down from the other side.”

Wordlessly, they both accompany me back into the room, and roll their eyes at my suggestion to shield between themselves and the warding.

“If I’ve done something wrong and it explodes, I am not being responsible for a double murder in the Room of Requirement,” I state matter of factly, then put the shield up for them.

Smiling sweetly, I turned around, facing this creation of mine, and sorely regretting its strength.

Raw, unbound magic bubbled up inside me on command, and I let my wand fall to the floor. It would splinter under this much strain; instead I directed the magic with my hands and my mind, pouring power into the wards, overloading them until the first layer shattered.

Panting slightly, I managed to direct the magic at the second layer, feeling my exhaustion creeping in. I pushed that aside, and grinned at the satisfying _crack_ of the ward breaking. Finding the gap I left, I wind my magic inside, poking at the weak spot until the whole ward came crashing to the ground.

Harry brought my shield down, and I almost collapsed into Draco’s arms as he threw them around me.

“Remind me never to do that again,” I say hoarsely, and Harry grins weakly at me.

I force myself to my feet, and the Room closes behind us as we leave, all back to normal.

We are considerably late to lunch, but for a Saturday, it goes mostly unnoticed. Other than by our friends, of course.

Draco slides into the seat next to me, taking my hand under the table. I grin – Draco never sits with us at mealtimes.

After all my magical exertion, I know what I need. Food. And preferably lots of it.

Cassia clambered into my lap, and I hugged her close. One good thing today has brought me is confident in my defensive abilities – my ability to protect Cassia should that time ever come. And I am hardly naïve – we all know _something_ is coming.

After lunch, Quidditch practice ensues, and the cold January air wakes me up as Seamus and I practice with the bludger. The aggression I work off using my physical strength is much appreciated, and Seamus and I match each other, practicing patterns and moves.

We’re kicked off the pitch for Ravenclaw practice, and none of us mind too much, with stiff limbs and cold-bitten fingers. Ravenclaw have a match next weekend, against the Hufflepuff team.

Hot showers are appreciated by the team, and we all head for the Gryffindor common room afterwards – I promised Dean we could work on the Magical Creatures essay together. In actuality, when we reached the common room, I was somewhat ambushed with apparition questions.

“Honestly, I don't know how I did it,” I say, trying to stop the questions. “It just, sort of, happened.”

Neville looks severely disappointed, hoping for an easy trick to help. I smile sympathetically.

“You’ll all get there, it’s a twelve-week course so there's time,” I remind everyone, and look to the nearby seventh-years for confirmation. Katie nodded, though she was severely impressed at my being able to apparate well straight away.

“It took me until my seventh week to apparate without splinching myself,” Katie confessed with a smile. “It’s just practice.” She turned back to her books, and Dean and I set about completing our latest essay on werewolves. As we worked, I idly cast a few spells, keeping Cassia quietly entertained, with animated books and narration only she could hear. At the quill drawing pictures alongside Cassia’s own, Harry nudged at my shoulder.

_You have an audience_ , he informed me, and I turned to see a lot of the Gryffindors watching my sister curiously. I raised an eyebrow with a smirk, and bubbles appeared around her, sending Cassia giggling with joy.

_I thought you weren't trying to show off your power?_ Harry asked, a little startled at how I had misinterpreted his words.

_The cat’s out of the bag now, mate_ , I reply with a mental shrug. _Apparition did that. It would be more suspicious if I could apparate with ease, but then my magic was only basic_.

Harry sighed, shaking his head as he turned back to his Potions essay.

I continued conjuring bubbles as I finished off the conclusion to my essay. Kettleburn can have fun marking my pro-werewolf acceptance essay.

I open my transfiguration textbook, but my thoughts wander to Harry’s words. I am definitely failing at the laying low thing I promised myself I would maintain until I left school. Apparition, and effortless magic and shielding at the DA. I have become more relaxed, less vigilant at keeping my secret. The magic takes so little effort that I only notice it was too much after it had attracted attention.

I should have known this was the consequence to my family’s magic, but I did not want to think about all of its ramifications. So I didn't. I have only started failing as more of my friends have found out the truth, as if it was all destined to come out like the opening of flood gates. But I can not allow that – for Cassia’s life. For her chance at a future, the world can't know she is a Walters.

Not until the end of Voldemort, and all his Death Eaters.

Which, was all down to some magical prophecy. That I had promised Harry over Christmas that I would look into.

I stood abruptly, and told everyone who looked to me that I was headed to the library, and a few nervous thoughts spiked out. I offered if anyone wanted to come with, and a couple of hesitant third-years nodded slowly. I smiled at them welcomingly. Cassia stayed in the common room with Ginny, who was desperate for an excuse to procrasting her work. The two third years (Alice and Sarah) kept a shaking wand in their hand the whole way down the stairs.

“What’s up?” I asked them as we approached the library. I nodded to the empty classroom, and they followed me inside quite easily.

“It’s just, being muggleborn and all, meeting _certain_ people in the corridors can be dangerous,” Alice said in a shaking voice. Sarah nodded her agreement, and my heart melted for them.

“Have you been attacked?” I question, letting the concern flood into my tone. Alice nodded.

“It’s just some extreme purebloods,” Sarah tried to diffuse, and I shook my head.

I can hardly believe I have been so blind, but the fear coating these girls’ auras is real. Living in Gryffindor Tower, this would never have gone unnoticed by me. But being so far away …

“Has this happened to a lot of you?” I ask, trying to keep confident in my projection.

Anyone above fourth year could join the DA, but I had barely stopped to consider the younger years. The most vulnerable I had assumed to be safe – off limits to the elitist idiots.

They nodded in unison.

“They threaten our families, to stop us going to McGonagall. Tell us they will send our names to the Dark Lord as the next attack to show up in the Prophet,” Sarah managed, and broke down into tears. Alice hugged her friend, and I held back my own. A sudden vision struck me of Cassia’s future, a future where we did not win and she is subjected to the same terror in the school corridors.

I knelt down next to the two girls. “You know I help run the DA, right?” They nod together, eyes wide and tear-filled. “I am going to start one for the younger years, just for first, second and third years. I can be the only older one there, and I promise that nothing will get back to teachers. It will be a safe space for you to learn to defend yourselves. How does that sound?” I pitch, and watery smiles grow on the girls’ faces.

“I’m going to need your help though. Can you get everyone to come to the empty classroom on the third floor, after dinner on Sunday?”

Both of them threw their arms around me, and I almost toppled backwards. Millions of thank-yous left their lips and their minds.

We all head into the library together, and I stay with the girls as they find the books they need, and, quite adorably, they stay with me as I find the ones I need of Prophecies. I figured the Hogwarts library would be where I start, but would never have the depth of information I want.

We checked out the books, and despite Draco calling for me through the mental link, I walked up to Gryffindor Tower with Alice and Sarah.

“Don't tell the other year groups. I don't want the professors to find out yet and shut it down before it has even started,” I tell them with a wink; the girls nods in agreement, considerably happier now than they had been before this little trip. I packed the books I’d carried upstairs into the bag on my shoulder – extension charms in school were highly against the rules, just as well, mine was undetectable.

Cassia left willingly with me, on the promise of seeing Draco, and I knew I had to not tell him about this little club I was setting up. He already thinks I’m doing too much, which whilst he might be right, I have to prioritise this, if no one else can do anything. Plus, I’ve promised Alice and Hannah that I would be the only older student there – that’s a promise I intend to keep.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you haven’t already, I would love you to leave some kudos down below for me!
> 
> \- Caity B xx


	36. Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: assault, abuse (discussed)
> 
> Next update on Saturday 16th of January 2021
> 
> Enjoy! :)

***

Sneaking away after dinner on Sunday was more difficult that I anticipated. I told Hermione I wanted a night with Draco, and she gladly took Cassia off my hands. I told Draco I’d be in the Gryffindor common room until late working at Magical Creatures with Dean.

In actuality, I snuck off to the empty classroom I’d told Alice and Sarah about, and smiled at the younger students already waiting inside for me.

“Hey, guys,” I start with an easy smile, “I’m Maeve. Why don't we all sit down and let's have a bit of a chat first? Are we waiting for anyone else, do we know?”

I scan the groups of first, second and third years, instantly spotting that the house distribution was a little off. There were loads of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and two Slytherin second-years. There's over forty kids in this room. Forty kids Sarah and Alice got the message to that someone in this school was ready to fight for them, for their safety and their education in a time like this. I recognise Daniel Roth, the kid who tried out as a Beater, and he smiles at me across the room.

A couple of stragglers showed up a little later, and I conjured extra chairs, making them all dance in a little pattern into a circle. I got some giggles from that, and I grinned.

“I’m going to lock the door – any of us can get out, but no one can get in, okay?” I let them all know, making my actions slow as I give anyone the chance to protest. No one does, but I feel the sense of safety set over the students.

I sit in the circle with everyone, leaning back in my chair in a relaxed manner.

“The aim of this is to be somewhere we can all talk about what's going on, all get together and practice magic. I’m going to teach you some defensive magic, if that's something everyone wants to learn.”

The general assent is nodding, and I encourage them to speak their minds, and let me know what they want to gain from this.

When no one speaks, I try a different tactic. “I know you're scared,” I start softly. “There's a lot going on in the world right now and everyone is scared for their families. But we have to stick together, and we have to learn to protect ourselves. The school is scared about the backlash from parents if they start teaching more defensive and offensive magic, that they'll get branded a military academy, rather than a magic school. If you want to learn something, I will do my absolute best to teach it to you. It’s okay if you don't want to say it in front of everyone, but come and find me, pull me aside, and I will always listen.”

“Can we do Body-Binds?” a third year Ravenclaw called out, and I nodded.

“Yeah, of course. Any other suggestions?”

As confidence grew, more and more suggestions poured out. Disarming spells. Slowing charms. Levitation charms. _Lumos._ Knockback Jinxes. An ambitious third year suggested Shield charms. Unlocking spells. Mending charms. Some transfiguration.

The list was apparently never ending.

“Is everyone up to start something now?” I asked, and the suggestion was met with only positive comments. “Let’s start with the basics – if everyone finds a space with their chair, I’d like you to try and levitate it. Remember _wingardium leviosa_.”

A timid couple of first years hung back near me as everyone went off to try the task.

The Hufflepuff girl was nervous beyond belief, but I stayed sat down, with a gentle smile.

“Can- can we do some potions? Professor Snape is scary when we get things wrong,” she stuttered through, and a surge of sympathy ran through my heart.

“Yeah, we can do Potions,” I promise her, and she and her Ravenclaw friend find the last available space on the floor to start trying to levitate the chair.

“Remember, everyone, emphasis on the _gar_ and the _oh_ sounds in the spell,” I call over the sounds of the incantation. I straighten a second year’s arm and remind a few first years of the swish-and-flick movements Flitwick likes to teach.

Teaching something like this is more of a challenge that I anticipated. I don’t have to think about this magic when I use it – I have to dig through my memories, and recall how I learnt it.

I smile proudly as I watch the last boy levitate the chair, and catch it in the same spell when he loses focus and it almost clatters to the ground.

“Okay, well done everyone. Now, if you all grab one of the books off the front desk, try and work together to levitate them all into one pile. It’s going to take concentration, and precision, but I think you all have got this.”

I grab a sheet of parchment out my bag, and list everything I was asked to help with. This might have to become a more-than-once-a-week club, as I thought I might get away with. Apparently not, but this is worth it, even if I need to drop a NEWT. With my promise to Draco earlier this month about not overdoing it, I’ve found myself wanting to drop Arithmancy more and more. I loved the OWL but the NEWT is so much more difficult, and takes up the majority of my revision time. Breaking the news to Professor Vector is the only reason I haven't done it yet.

“Once you've put your book on the stack, I’d like it if everyone could come and tell me one thing they struggle with in Potions,” I announce over the noise, and there’s a collective groan at the sound of everyone's least favourite subject.

But, regardless, every single student tells me a Potion, and I add the news ones to the list. Sleeping draught. Strengthening solution. Fire protection potion. Wiggenweld Potion. A lot of requests for Wiggenweld. I remember personally hating the potion, and the way Snape taught it was less than ideal. I put that one at the top of the list, by popular demand.

I wince as a pile of books comes crashing to the floor, startling most of the students.

When the bell rings, for thirty minutes to curfew, I spell the parchment to fly back to my bag.

“Let's meet again during the week- Wednesday night after dinner, and we can do some disarming, and some shields if we're feeling brave,” I suggest, and there's a lot of nodding. “For the potions stuff, I can get ingredients no problem, but it's going to take a little more time - does anyone mind giving up a Sunday afternoon?”

I feel a slight twinge at some silent disagreement. “If you don't want to, you don't have to, but I’m going to need more time to teach Potions than just an evening before curfew.”

If Snape’s teaching plan has remained constant, he will be teaching the Wiggenweld potion in two weeks to all the year groups I have present. Teaching it to them will give every one of them a fighting chance to impress Snape, or at least not mess up. I’d like to do that for them.

At the nerves in the room for walking around the castle late in the evening, I send everyone off in groups, with my company. I take the Hufflepuffs down to their dungeon home, and the two Slytherins along with them. Neither of the two of them spoke much to me, but I saw them interacting with others, so I know they are not completely shut off.

As I leave them at the end of the corridor, I swear as Nott and Zabini round the corner.

“Well, what is the mudblood doing here?” Zabini asked with a sadistic grin.

“And you would care why exactly?” I reply, raising an eyebrow at them. All the lewd and horrible things running through their minds shout out to me, and I school my face into a careful neutrality.

Almost too quickly for me to detect, Nott grabs me roughly, and pushes me into the cold stone wall of the corridor. I wince as my back cracks violently.

“Was there something you wanted?” I snarl, and Zabini glances down the corridor warily. He barks an order at passing fifth-years to say nothing, and I recognise a couple of them from the DA. I refuse to blame them – these two pricks have too much sway with dark magic for them to interfere.

I catch Nott’s hand in a spell as he runs it down the side of my body.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” I growl, and I hold back the magic threatening to spill. Zabini wrenches my wand out of the sheath on my arm, grinning as he turns it over. He waves it carelessly, and Nott’s free hand lands on my throat.

“I’ll kill you for that stunt with the wards,” Nott threatens, and I choke on a laugh. He is still bitter about that? It was weeks and weeks ago. But, I guess, a wounded pride can last a lifetime.

“Oh, don’t you know what I could do to you?” I manage, as his hand tightens. As he does so, his own oxygen supply diminishes, and I smile with greying lips. Gasping for air, his grip loosens, and he collapses to the floor as I release the spell.

“You are going to leave me, my sister, and my friends alone, or next time I won't release the spell. And someone will find you choked out in the corridor – what a tragic accident.” My voice was rough and low as I summoned my wand out of Zabini’s hand.

“What are you?” he managed, eyes straying to his friend on the floor.

“Your newest nightmare,” I smiled sweetly, stalking off down the corridor with a shield at my back.

I head back up the stairs, a hand at my throat as I weave the glamour over the top of the marks where Nott’s fingers gripped me. Naively I had thought the Slytherins only attacked me because of the grudge they have held up, but it's so much more than that. With the Ravenclaws and the Gryffindors, we head to the towers, and on my entering of the Gryffindor common room, the castle bell tolls again, indicating curfew. Shit.

I take a sleeping Cassia in my arms, thanking Hermione for looking after her, and head down the stairs once again, and into my own space. To find Draco, with a mildly irritated look on his face, waiting for me.

I take Cassia to her own bed, and tuck her in gently, setting the magical mobile spinning its soft tune.

Draco and I head into my room, and I close the door gently behind me. He rounds on me quickly as I sit heavily on the edge of my bed.

“You lied to me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I lied to everyone,” I say, rubbing my temples as I feel a headache building.

“Hardly.” Draco pauses. “Why, Maeve? What was so important you couldn't tell me about it?”

“Maybe it’s not about you!” I exclaim, jumping to my feet. “Maybe it's something I know I don’t want to fight with you about. Maybe it’s something damn important enough that I had to lie to all everyone about.”

As my mind and body pull tight with a defensive nature, I close off my mind. I do it gently, but Draco notices the absence instantly.

“Maeve, please don't do this,” he whispers, and I feel the tears fill my eyes. My fingers fly to my neck, the invisible marks, and I remind myself why I am doing this. Because Hogwarts is not safe. Because there are terrified kids running between classes and safe spaces in fear. Because I can’t make Draco choose again.

I bite my lip, and feel my resolve crumbling at the fear rolling into me. Not fear from Draco, my own delayed reaction to all the events of the night.

“It’s going to hurt,” I warn him, and Draco simply nods. “It’s something I’m starting for the younger years, a safe space of sorts, for magic, for learning to defend themselves.”

Draco’s brow furrowed as he took in the information. A form of regret bloomed through my mind as I decided how I would finish this conversation.

“And, why would this hurt me?” Draco asked slowly, and I could not meet his eyes as I explained.

“You can't get involved. If you're finally going to admit you enjoy teaching, help Harry with the DA. I can't let anyone else near this,” I say frankly, watching from the outside as the cogs in Draco’s brain whir.

He’s silent for a long while. The silence stretches and I fiddle nervously with my rings.

“Have you told Potter?” he asked finally, and I shook my head.

“I promised them all that I would be the only student above fourth year,” I reiterate.

“It’s-it’s not that m-my father is a death eater,” Draco, mumbled, falling over his words, in a way I’ve rarely heard from him.

I shake my head without hesitation, stepping closer to him with my hands out.

“It’s nothing like that. I’m just trying to get them to trust me,” I say gently, and Draco meets my eyes. I knew that would be his leap of logic, and as much as I have denied it, he isn't wrong. At least, not totally. Yes, I planned not to tell anyone, but the last person I can involve with this is the son of one of the most well-known death eaters.

But, he can't hear that. It would break him. I step back, loosening my tie, my hand lingering at my neck. As I notice him staring, and the accompanying concern, I remove the tie and hang it over the corner of my mirror.

“What happened?” he asks bluntly, and I shake my head.

“It’s nothing,” I dismiss, but Draco’s intention doesn't waver.

“Drop the glamour,” he says quietly, and I shake my head. “What are you hiding?”

“People are getting hurt!” I explode, and Draco blanches. “Kids are getting hurt because of the families they come from; they're living this nightmare at Hogwarts that no one is willing to do anything about!”

I tear down the glamour. “Is this what you wanted to see?” I shout, staring at Draco in the mirror. Angry red finger-marks are splayed across my neck, and I trace them carefully with my own shaking hands.

Draco moved towards me slowly, encasing my shaking hands in his own. Finally, all the floodgates burst, and tears streak down my face.

I had been so powerless, too consumed with trying to keep the bulk of my power hidden that I couldn't think straight for what magic would be expected. And, this happened.

All this hiding, all this lying, and to what end? Even before I knew my responsibility to protect Cassia, I hid everything.

“Maevey, you didn't have a choice,” Draco murmured to me, and my breath hitched. “You’ve been so strong, for so long. But hiding things from everyone who cares about you isn't helping.”

I bury my head in Draco’s shoulder, to avoid answering him, and he pulls me in close. I crack open my mind again, just enough for Draco to talk mentally with me, and be able to read my emotions. 

A tendril of his magic wraps around my mind comfortingly, and I lean into the touch, intertwining my magic with his own. The threads of power weaved together in harmony, and my anxiety and fear slowly ebbed away into the background.

“Maeve,” he whispers in a uneven voice. “Who did this to you?”

“It doesn't matter, they’ll get what they deserve,” I say, undeniable finality lacing my tone, and Draco doesn’t push.

Instead, he helps me to my feet, and I get changed robotically, stopping in front of the mirror, my fingers pausing over the scars. My eyes find the scar on my palm, and Draco’s curiosity catches my mind.

“When teaching a child not to lose themselves in Legilimency,” I start, my eyes finding Draco’s in the mirror. “it can be difficult not to lose them. Pain is a good motivator to bring them back to their own minds, their own bodies.”

“Every scar here was either my mother, my grandmother or my aunt, making sure I didn't lose my mind,” I say slowly, placing Draco’s hands atop the patchwork of scars over my hips and up my sides.

Thankfully, he stopped the outraged thoughts bubbling up in his mind, and simply kissed me.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he whispered into my hair, and I managed a smile.

“I didn't mean to wreck the whole glamour,” I admit as his fingers run over the marks. “Just show this,” I motion to red marks on my neck. “Guess I was more angry than I thought.”

We climbed into bed together, Draco’s arms around me. I look up to his eyes, reading the hesitation.

“Ask,” I prompt gently, and Draco lets out a huff of a laugh.

“You keep referencing this power you have – how much is it?” Draco asked, and I shrugged. I has been wondering when this would come up again – outside of Legilimency, recently I have definitely shown more of an affinity for powerful magic, mostly unintentionally.

Last time, when we talked about Legilimency power, we were on rocky ground for days afterward, neither one sure if to push the conversation further, or demand answers and explanations. I’m hoping we are past that, and talking about magical ability is not going to put us back in that position again.

“Not sure – I’ve never really found an end to it. I could test it, I guess, but I would need one hell of a space to test it,” I speculate. “Godric, I mean I couldn't test it at Hogwarts, I wouldn't want to risk it.”

Draco is silent for a while, and I freeze up a little, wondering if I said the wrong thing.

“What about Walters Manor?” he asked, and I nodded.

“It would be the safest place, as long as Cassia wasn't there.”

Draco kisses me, and we keep it slow, drawing emotion out of each other. Seemingly reading my mind, Draco pushes no further than kisses as we lie in the dark, wrapped in each other's embrace.

***

Potions class on Monday morning was torture for my patience. I was so mad at Snape. For the fear he gave the youngest years.

It didn't start well – I was late to the class, having totally forgotten about replacing my glamour after the angry outburst that made me accidentally tear the whole thing down rather than a single hole in it.

So, for possibly the first time in history, a student was late for Snape’s class, and to say he was livid would be an understatement. He would have been livid, should I have been a normal student he could punish to high heaven for it. But, using Cassia as my excuse tied the professor’s hands, and I was well within McGonagall’s terms to be late for a class.

I had to vanish my own attempts at the potion Dreamless Sleep twice as I messed up. The only reason Snape hadn't pounced on my mistakes were silent notice-me-not charms I put up around myself. Eventually I found my rhythm, losing myself in the work, and by the end of the class I had a perfect vial of Dreamless Sleep to show for all my work.

I submitted my work to Snape last – letting the potion stand for five minutes, as the book instructed. The rest of the class had cleared out, and I cleared up my work in silence.

“Miss Ellis, what took you so long today?” Snape asked as he watched me tidy from behind his desk. “I would have thought you to be one of the first to complete the task.”

I almost dropped my wand. That couldn't be a highly-veiled compliment, right? I mean, it is Snape. And I was late to his class.

“I’ve been distracted lately, Professor,” I manage.

“If you wish to study a mastery, there is no room for distraction,” he said bluntly, and a rise of anger hit me. I don’t want to think about my lack of future in this subject, the future Snape is denying me. Safer for me to consider Auror training as Plan A.

“I believe we established that you would not have me as your student, Professor,” I replied carefully. Every part of this conversation felt wrong, felt like a trap. Like Snape was looking for a single reason to legitimately push me out of the prospects of a Mastery.

“No, I never refused. But if I am to consider you for a mastery, you must prove yourself top of the class,” he informed me. “I can take on only one student per year for a mastery, from my NEWT class.”

I set my jaw. “My focus in the present is winning the war that's coming. Education will be here when that is over.”

Snape’s breathing hitches in the silence of the room, and he nods wordlessly. I left the room, catching the tail-end of a memory playing in Snape’s mind unsolicited, of his hearing of the same words from my mother, back in his seventh year at Hogwarts. I block it out, not wanting to see Snape and my mother connected.

Throwing that memory to the back of my mind, I head to lunch.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Caity B xx


	37. Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: oh so much smut :)
> 
> Next update on Wednesday 20th of January
> 
> Enjoy!

***

Wednesday evening rolls around far too quickly for my liking, and over the past three days I’ve had far too many regrets about promising to teach shield charms and _expelliarmus_ to the younger years. However, I refuse to let myself back out, and I’ve read so much information recently that I know fifty different ways to try and teach a shield charm to students who have never seen it before.

Typically, the school teaches shield charms in fifth year – my trying to teach it to first through third years might be a terrible idea. But, I’m going to start with disarming, and we’ll see if I can stretch it out long enough to putt off the shield charms.

I skip the end of dinner, Draco promising to act as my excuse, and he also offered to look after Cassia so I don’t have to keep making excuses to my Gryffindor friends. Despite the little spat we had, I’m glad he can see my position in this. Setting up the classroom to accommodate this practice, I move desks and vanish the furniture that won’t stack neatly out the way. The last thing I want to happen is a wayward spell to hit precariously-balanced desks and cause an injury.

As dinner ends, students start to gather, and I make an effort to talk to them all as the walk in, trying to suss out names and find anyone with particular fears going into this, just so I can keep an eye on the weaker, or more anxious ones. Mostly, the nervous ones are the first-years; they’ve been learning magic all of five months, and I can hardly blame them for their nerves.

Alice and Sarah are the last two to enter, and I put the wards up with the same assurance to everyone that they can get out at any time. When I spoke, the room quietened instantly, and I project a welcoming feel to the room, reading the shifts in emotion around me.

“I promised everyone disarming charms, and shield charms today,” I start, and nerves and excitement jump into expressions around me. “Disarming is one of the most crucial skills in any wizard in duel, second only perhaps to defensive shielding magic. Typically, I believe _expelliarmus_ is taught in third year, but my class had a duelling club second year where we learnt it, and I have no doubt everyone can make an effort today.”

I split them up into pairs, and they manage to arrange themselves into neat-ish rows down either side of the room.

“Now, I’m going to need a volunteer,” I say, and a third-year Ravenclaw steps forward after a beat when no one else does. I smile encouragingly. “Thank you, Kieran. Take a duelling stance across the floor from me, wand out,” I guide, and he follows my instructions easily. Right, some of them aren’t babies. I need to remind myself of that – Kieran would appear to be a confident one.

“ _Expelliarmus_ is a scarlet light, and when we’re just starting out, it’s a sharp movement of your wrist in a circle – can everyone try that for me?” I keep a tight leash on my own magic with my wand in my hand, thinking about a specific spell. Accidentally wordlessly casting this spell isn’t exactly the way to go.

I walk up and down the room, correcting when I need to, repeating the motion with my wand as an example. They all pick it up quickly enough, but in my memory from the duelling club, once you add the incantation and the intent, it doesn’t go so well.

Once I’m happy that everyone has got the movement, I call their attention again, and go over the incantation. “ _Expelliarmus_ is one of the least picky incantations on the pronunciation. Say it with me, _expelliarmus._ ”

I nod encouragement as everyone gradually joins in. “Okay, that sounded good. I think we should eat straight in with a demonstration now,” I added, and Kieran smiles a little nervously. “The charm doesn’t hurt, don’t worry.”

I add a little more encouragement for his benefit, and then level my wand slowly at him.

“ _Expelliarmus,”_ I say calmly, and his wand goes flying out of his hand, hitting the wall. He retrieves it with a sheepish grin, and I turn to the watching students with a smile. “The time it takes them to retrieve the wand is vital time you can be using to get the hell out of there.”

I send them off to start practicing, and shouts of the incantation fill the room, though it takes a little longer for the subsequent clatter of wands to join the noise. The first student to get the spell is a quiet Hufflepuff third-year, who is instantly surrounded by congratulatory friends. Not too long after, Kieran and his partner both manage the spell too. I expected this much – the third years to get the spell first, but I’m still hopeful for some of the younger ones to manage it too. If they don’t get the disarming charms, I can hardly try and teach shield charms, which is at such a higher level.

“It’s all about practice and repetition,” I say over the noise. “Getting it the first time can be a fluke – practice practice practice!”

Over an hour’s worth of practice, almost all the third- and second-years manage the spell, with about half the first-years getting it or something close enough too. I spend some time individually with the first-years who don’t get it, working on visualisations of the spell to try and encourage it, and variations of the movement that might allow more magical flow through their wands.

It helps a little with most of them, and I’m cautiously ready to start a little of the ideas behind shield charms.

“Okay, so I’m not sure if this is going to work, because this is fifth-year magical content, but I want to at least introduce it to you all, and we can go from there.” I survey the crowd gathering, and I continue: “I’m going to need someone’s help again, three people if possible.”

Daniel Roth volunteers, as does Sarah, and another third-year, a Hufflepuff girl with short hair and an easy-going smile.

“I need you to use that _expelliarmus_ charm, and try and disarm me, and I’m going to show you a shield charm.” I take my wand in my hand, making sure to be careful to not use wandless magic. I don’t know if any of them are aware that it’s possible, and I am not aiming to scare them all even more. Disarming charms don’t do much against wandless magic, funnily enough.

Daniel is the first to cast the spell, and I arc my arm in front of my body, with the incantation _protego_ falling from my lips. “Whilst I am focussed, I can keep the shield going,” I say, as Sarah casts an _expelliarmus_ in my direction. The stronger your shield, the longer it will last, and the less often you will have to reinforce it.”

The Hufflepuff casts at me as well, and I thank them, and take down the shield charm, reversing the motion of my wand to take down the charm.

“So, for the motion of it whilst we’re still learning, start with your wand pointing at your opposite hip, and move your arm up in a arc across your body, ending with your wand pointed upward at about head-height,” I explain, demonstrating slowly. “The key with shield charms is to visualise it, and visualise it protecting you, and then the spell will help you in the best ways it can.”

They copy my movements, some of them muttering the incantation, familiarising the feeling of the words. “Shields don’t need anything against them for you to make them,” I continue, correcting a few people’s grip. “You can practice them on your own, or against simple, non-harmful spells, like the _expelliarmus_ we practiced earlier. But, for now, I’m going to leave how we spend the last fifteen minutes as a choice – if you’d like to work on the _expelliarmus_ for a bit longer, then go for it, or if you’re wanting to try shields, then you can do that too.”

As I guessed, most choose to move onto the shield charms, but with little success. I didn’t have high hopes to begin with, but as the warning bell rings for almost-curfew, only two of the third-years have produced something even vaguely resembling a shields.

“We can practice more next week, or after we’re done with potions on Sunday,” I promise as I read the disappointment lacing the room. With a little bit of their new-found confidence in the air, they stick in their house groups as they leave the room, happy to walk around the castle without my need to escort them.

Even if the shields had been a bit of a failure, I couldn’t help the smile on my face as they all left with that kernel of confidence.

By the time I returned to my quarters, after returning the classroom to its natural state, Draco had put Cassia to bed, and I did my best not to look surprised. His tie was abandoned over the back of the sofa, top button undone, and his brows knotted in concentration as he stared at a Runes textbook. I stood silently, leaning against the fireplace, just watching him work, the pink of his lips as he chewed on the end of a quill that had seen better days.

I could stand here all night, drinking every part of Draco in. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair (Cassia’s fault, I suspect), blond strands angling outwards.

I made a little noise, as not to startle, as I undid my cloak, throwing it lazily onto an armchair. Draco looked up, the crease in his forehead disappearing as he smiled.

And how are the little darlings?” He asked, and I shrugged.

“They’re scared,” I reply honestly. “They want to be able to defend themselves, and some of them just don’t have enough magic to do it effectively.” I untie my tie with a flick of my fingers, and it flies neatly over to land with my robe. Draco smirks at my casual magic, ditching the textbook in his hands and looking up at me expectantly.

I smile softly, my fingers at the buttons on my shirt, slowly undoing it. Draco’s breath hitches in the silence of the room, and he stands, taking over. I flick the gramophone on idly, and soft classical music plays lowly.

Our lips connect, and move in sync with slow passion, bodies pressing together and my shirt temporarily forgotten. I wedge open the doorway between our minds, throwing filthy images into Draco’s mind, until he was hard against me, a slight movement of my hips a source of friction.

“That’s unfair,” he groaned into my lips, and I stepped back with a wicked grin. “Oh fuck you, Maeve,” he whined with no malice, and I grinned again.

“I’d like you to,” I reply nonchalantly, fingering the final buttons, and casting my shirt away to the growing pile of clothes on the armchair. “But not when we could have an audience.” I take Draco’s hand, and he follows me readily upstairs. The door to my room clicks locked behind us, and Draco’s hand finds his crotch, rearranging himself in the constriction of his school-trousers, groaning lowly.

I put my hand on his, forcing his fingers to curl around the bulge of his hardness, and his groans again, lower still.

“We haven’t done this in a while,” I remark casually, magically undoing the buttons with the utmost precision. “What do you think about when you wank, Draco?”

His eyes snap to mine, and a blush creeps up his cheeks. I grin wickedly. “I think about you when I get myself off, pretend it’s your fingers, your cock inside me, that I’m squeezing your cock as I orgasm. It always works to tip me over the edge.”

Draco groans, and I move his hand away to his sides, ditching his shirt and my fingers trailing down slowly to his belt. I kiss him again, slowly still as I remove his belt, and my fingers toy with the waistband of his trousers.

He nods his permission, and my hand snakes down, gripping the velvety hardness of him. Draco’s body sways a little at the skin-on-skin contact, the brief friction I brought, before stilling my hands and connecting our lips.

“How do you want to do this, my love?” My voice is low and sultry. “I can think of so many things we could do. Anything is possible; magic is the limit.”

Draco shudders under my touch, and his cock twitches and strains in interest. I take my hand away, and he keens a little at the loss of pressure. “Sorry, my love, I need Draco’s brain for a second,” I purr, and he leans back against the door, breathing a little heavily.

“Maevey, you know what I want,” he complains, and I shrug with an air of innocence.

‘You told me not to read your mind.” Draco rolls his eyes, and with his slightly-strained mental capacity, focussed a little too much on the blood rushing to his cock, he threw a bunch of images into my mind through the doorway.

Even thinking about it was a struggle, and Draco’s hand automatically went to his cock, which, judging by the emotions pouring through his mind, was becoming very uncomfortable encased in his trousers. But, as the images he sent me also assured me, he would take discomfort up to a point, if I took control and gave him a night of kinky sex.

“I’m glad you know what you want,” I manage to say evenly, and with a wicked grin and a flick of my wrist, bonds were conjured out of nowhere, dragging his hands upward and leaving him tentatively excited for what I might do, which option I could choose.

I removed his shoes and socks with another flick of magic, and reminded him softly that all it would take was the word _resolvo_ and the bonds would break. Draco nodded his understanding. Crossing the room in two steps, I kissed him with a fierce intensity, claiming his lips.

When I broke away, my fingers found the button of his trousers, and I undid the clasp slowly.

“Just in case it’s not clear, you’re not allowed to come until I give you permission, alright?” He agrees with barely-coherent words, and I smirk a little. A Malfoy completely at my mercy.

I keep with the slow pace, kneeling in front of him as I move the zipper downward, waiting for his patience to snap. It takes less than a minute for Draco’s hips to buck towards me, and I take pity, pulling the trousers down and out of my way.

“Maevey,” he whines, as his clothed erection strains against the waistband of his pants, and I look up at him through my lashes. His cheeks are flushed, lips parted slightly, and I haven’t even touched him properly yet.

“Shush, my love, you know you love it, and you can stop it whenever you like,” I remind him gently, kissing up the insides of his thighs between words. When I reach just where the material begins, I let my lips ghost over the fabric, and, quite suddenly, I vanish the garment, and Draco’s cock snaps into place, the tip close enough to touch my lips.

He groans at the slight contact, an array of swears falling from his lips incoherently. I take him fully in my mouth, relishing the feeling of Draco pulsing, out of control, inside me. He’s rock hard, straining, and I run my tongue up and down his length.

Deaf to his pleas, I keep up the languid pace, and when I feel his cock twitch and tighten further in my mouth, I pull away. He keens and pleads, but I deny him, allowing him a minute to ride out his almost-orgasm.

When he’s regained himself enough to glare at me, I grin, my lips pink. The bonds dissolve, and Draco’s arms fall to his sides, hands balling into fists as he tries to fight the urge to touch his cock.

“Aren’t you good for me, my love,” I purr, kissing him. He responds eagerly, and I slap his thigh as he tries to take over, speeding up the pace. I push him back after a minute, and his brows twitch but he makes no verbal complaint.

“Sit on the bed, spread your legs for me, so I can see your beautiful cock, my love,” I instructed, and he complied without hesitation. “My Draco deserves a treat for being so good for me.”

I’m still half-clothed, missing only my shirt, and I intend to rectify that. His eyes widen as he realises my performative intention, and I briefly wonder if at this point, it could make him come without any direct contact. I discard the idea – I want tonight to last. I watch him watch me, as I take off my clothes, items flying out of my hands and organising themselves with barely a sliver of magic used up.

“Maeve,” Draco says hoarsely as he drinks in the sight of my body, as if for the first time all over again. “Please,” he asks, and I see the unvoiced ideas running through his mind. I cast a silent acuity charm around us, and climb on the bed, sitting in the space between Draco’s legs.

“Touch yourself, only once,” I instruct, and he does, his hand sliding quickly up his cock, eliciting a groan. I slap his thigh as he moves again, and his hand falls away.

I lean over him, my stomach dragging on his cock as I kiss him, swallowing his moans. Just by the array of noises, I feel myself clenching, tightening. He has no idea what those noises do to me.

“You can come once I have,” I assure him, and slide myself onto him in one stroke. I give myself a second to acclimatise to the fullness, before nodding, and Draco takes over. He lies me gently on my back, still sheathed inside me, and starts slowly, testing his own restraint.

I don’t let him. “Faster, my love,” I instruct, and he complies, groaning as he thrusts into me. One hand is braced by my head, the other finding my wet sex, and rubbing at it in time with his thrusts, which progressively get slower but sloppier as he fights for his own control.

Heat pools at my core, and I don’t hold back as I cry out his name, eyes slipping closed in the bliss of the orgasm. When I recover myself, Draco’s trembling at the effort, his body taut in too many places. Draco’s cock slips out of me, red and straining, still. I sit up and kiss him, taking his cock in my hand. I give it three firm strokes, feeling the tension heighten.

“Come for me, my love,” I whisper as I bite gently at his lip, and he comes in an explosion almost instantly. I coax him all the way through his release, whispering comfort and sweet nothings to him.

We collapse together into bed, endorphins running high in both of our systems. Draco was incoherent for a while, and I gently forced him to drink water, and offered him chocolates. I love looking after him like this, when he’s too out of it to remember the pride he’s supposed to possess as a Pureblood Slytherin. He falls asleep, and I summon a blanket, spreading it out of the both of us, though I don’t fall asleep. I watch him, brushing strands of his hair out of his eyes.

With one arm tucked around Draco’s sleeping form, I dive into my mind, methodically going through my shields in a way I haven’t done in a while, at least not this thoroughly. It helps every now and then to reinforce and build up.

Draco stirring brings me out of my mind, and I smile as his eyes flutter open.

“Hi, my love,” I whisper, and Draco’s eyes scan the room, trying to place the time. “Still Wednesday,” I inform him, and he grins when I cast a _tempus,_ and change my answer.

“I don’t know how you do that to me,” Draco said frankly, and I didn’t answer, humming slightly to myself. He turns to face me, taking in my noncommittal answer. He traces his finger from my lips, working his way down my naked body. “You are a bit of a mindfuck sometimes,” he continued slowly, and as his fingers reached the tips of my thigh, I sighed in pleasure. Just the physical closeness brought me so much joy.

“Despite everything with how you present yourself, you do actually like letting someone else take the reigns,” I informed him. “That’s the only secret to it. Well, that plus explicit Legilimency, and you’re putty in my hands.”

Draco ruffles his expression, and I quirk a brow at him.

“It’s easy to forget sometimes what kind of power you have,” he said nonchalantly. I sigh; I don’t want to have this conversation again. I simply kiss him to shut him up, and let Draco take the lead. When he breaks away, sooner than I anticipated, I tilt my head a little against headboard.

“Something’s made you stress, and you didn’t sleep whilst I did,” he says gently. “Talk to me, Maeve.”

He intertwines our fingers, and waits for me to find the words. I really don’t give him enough credit for how well he knows me, and all my tells.

“I only just about got a couple of the third-years on shield charms,” I say, running my free hand through my hair and snapping the elastic across the room. “They’re all so eager though, it’s difficult to say no. I promised we could do another session next week on shields.”

Draco rolled his eyes at me. “Half of fifth year had trouble with shields the first time we learnt them; don’t beat yourself up about it.”

When I go to object, he kisses me again, leaving me breathless as he breaks away. “Maeve Anne Walters, don’t doubt yourself so much. So they didn’t all get it in an hour, but some of them did – that’s an amazing achievement, don’t forget that.”

I manage a smile, letting the concern slip to the back of my mind.

“So, tell me, what made you restrain yourself after I told you that you could come when I did?” I ask with a wicked grin, and Draco blushes, burying his face in the pillow. I laugh gently at his embarrassment, and hook a finger under his chin, pulling his face to look at mine. “I’m just curious, you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.”

Draco sighed, his cheeks tinged with colour. He shakes his head, and I nod.

“Remember, Draco, it’s just me and you, nothing you tell me is going to go anywhere else. It’s just us, but if you don’t want to talk about it, I respect that, and I’ll not push you for it,” I remind him, kissing him lightly.

I lie down, finally feeling the exhaustion setting in, when Draco’s voice interrupts my almost-slumber.

“I wanted to please you,” he mumbles, almost incoherently. “I thought – I mean, I know you like it when you deny me, I thought you would like it.”

I lean over and kiss him fiercely. “I did love it, Draco. Seeing you there, just watching me as I orgasmed, but holding yourself back for me was beautifully erotic, and I loved it.”

Draco’s arms find their way around me, and I settled into them, my mind finally quiet enough to sleep.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -Caity B xx


	38. Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: nothing really :)
> 
> Next chapter to be published on Sunday 24th January 2021
> 
> Enjoy!

***

“Unfortunately, sometimes I have to set you written assignments,” Tonks informs us as the lesson draws to a close. “I want three feet of parchment on the differences between muggleborn students and those who grew up surrounded by magic. And yes,” Tonk said, as Hermione raised her hand. “I am aware those of you who take Charms wrote a similar essay previously. I will know if you hand me in the same essay, so for your sake, just do the damn assignment.”

The threat hung in the air, its nameless nature making it all the more worrisome. I used up all my best ideas on that first essay – this one is going to require a little more research, and a lot more critical analysis to make it different to the first one. But, since I work with the younger students now, I guess I have good current, practical experience I can utilise. I file that away in my brain as something to pay attention to during the next teaching session (Sunday for Wiggenweld Potion and maybe shield charms if they’re all up for it).

I spend my Friday with Draco and Cassia, the three of us playing games into the evening. At dinner, there was a palpable hum of tension at the prospect of the Quidditch match tomorrow. Ravenclaw against Hufflepuff. The least animosity between the teams, perhaps, but still going to be an interesting match nonetheless. In the current standings, Ravenclaw have no points in the Quidditch Tournament, and I’d wager they will be looking to remedy that. Hopefully Chang will keep her head this time, compared to the disaster for her that was the match against us.

Since we have to be up early tomorrow for the match, Draco and I don’t stay up late. We talk about nothing much, and I fall asleep with Draco’s arms around me.

I am a little apprehensive about bringing Cassia to a Quidditch match, when last time it was so upsetting for her. But, when I ask her about it, she seems excited enough to watch so I don’t question it.

Draco heads to breakfast with the Slytherins, and Cassia and I join up with Harry and Ron.

“Is ‘Mione coming?” I ask, a little optimistically. Quidditch just really isn’t her thing, but the rest of us could do with the chance to scope out some of the tactics for the teams playing today. Particularly Hufflepuff, since our next match will be against them. The whole season had a shake-up of the order, and the final match of our season is Gryffindor against Slytherin, perhaps the most tense match there is. But that’s not for a while yet.

“Unlikely, she was buried in books when we left the Tower,” Harry answered, and then continued, “Something about that defence essay has her riled, like she needs to prove herself.”

I can see the essay being problematic, but Hermione will ace it like she always does.

The chilly January air ices our fingers as we head outside to the stands. I can a strong warming charm around my sister, and she runs energetically around the crowds of people. As always, my paranoid self has a shield around my sister, not that there should be any rogue spells flying anywhere.

Excitement is palpable in the air, and the sixth-year on the Gryffindor team are all talking statistics and outcomes, what ifs and maybes. I keep up well enough, not paying particular attention as I’m monitoring my sister.

If Fred and George were here, they would be taking bets off people, any way to earn the extra cash. I smile fondly at the memory of them doing that during Triwizard, and Harry loops his arm through mine, steering me in the right direction. He’s noticed my slightly sporadic behaviour then. I’m just a little unfocused, nothing too serious.

Our place in the stands is not too crowded, at least, not yet, and Cassia has a little space to run around and weave in between spectators.

“Maevey, you okay?” Harry mutters to me, his words easily lost to our neighbours in the noise. I nod, expanding the warming charm around my friends as they rub their hands in the cold. You’d forget that this was a magic school sometimes, really. They notice it instantly, and send a grin my way.

“Yeah, I just – Cassia’s not been sleeping well, and I’ve been up at all hours researching.”

He raises an eyebrow in question, but at that moment, the seventh-year behind the magical megaphone announces the Hufflepuff team, and the attention of the crowd is drawn.

The team announcements ring out, and when the whistle sounds, Ravenclaw take the Quaffle. My eyes follow the Beaters throughout the match, in the same way that Harry watches the Seekers.

“FIRST GOAL OF THE MATCH SCORED BY MARIA PARKER; TEN-ZERO TO RAVENCLAW.”

The Ravenclaw Captain is on a warpath for the snitch as her and her team clear a path through the Hufflepuff Chasers with relative ease, brooms fighting against the bitter winds at their height.

I keep a close eye on the Hufflepuff Beaters, silently edging them on to send the formation scattering. One of them does (Kellegren, maybe?) and the formation is lost, the Quaffle snatched by a Hufflepuff Chaser. A quick one-eighty and Hufflepuff are in line to score.

“HALE SCORES FOR THE HUFFLEPUFF TEAM! TEN ALL!”

Hale was the youngest of the players, a fourth-year. This year, the house teams had tended towards the older years, as things gradually got more and more competitive.

Avys almost knocked down the Hufflepuff Keeper with a bludgeoned, and I had to admire his skill on the pitch. Even though last time, I had bested him it was clear the Ravenclaw team had been putting in a lot of hours on the pitch to remedy their loss.

“HEAD BOY AVYS REPRIMANDED BY MADAME HOOCH FOR THIS CONDUCT; PENALTY TO HUFFLEPUFF!”

Hufflepuff score their penalty, and the Quaffle is taken back to the centre. Ravenclaw get possession again, but it’s not a straightforward flight for them to the goal.

“I haven’t seen the snitch once,” Harry muttered, his eyes scanning the pitch. “This could be a long match.”

Cassia finds her way into my arms partway through the match, and my attention is divided between the match and our mental conversation. I lose track of the match, Cassia showing me stories, and I entertain her with my own additions. She’s not all that interested in the match, but in the same way I am, she’s enjoying the emotional atmosphere of all the excited Gryffindors around us.

The shout from the commentator brings me back out of our little bubble. “PARKER SCORES AGAIN FOR RAVENCLAW, MAKING THE SCORE SIXTY-THIRTY AS WE ENTER THE SECOND HOUR!”

One of the bludgers is giving Avys a real problem; its path is rather insistently tending towards the Ravenclaw Keeper, and the other Beater for Ravenclaw has been left to cover the rest of the pitch. Needless to say, that’s not going particularly well.

Chang and the other captain signal for a break by the time the third hour is hitting, and Avys is still trying to fight that bludger.

“Is that suspicious to anyone else?” I ask, and Seamus nodded, his face serious for once. My eyes followed Avys as he landed, drenched in sweat and anger saturated his mind. There was something going on here, for sure.

Though when the teams took to the air again, both bludgers flew around the pitch in their usual fashion, indiscriminately targeting everyone. I felt the same relief Avys did as he could leave his post protecting the Keeper.

By the time the commentator announced the first sighting of the Snitch we were well into the fourth hour of the match. Neville had managed to catch Cassia’s attention, as he was growing bored of the match too. Then Chang dived, and the Hufflepuff Seeker (Donovan) followed.

The attention of the spectators was well and truly recaptured, as both Seekers we’re temporarily scattered off their path due to a rogue bludger. Collectively they tried to spot the golden wings, and Donovan spotted something first, shooting off towards the prize.

“PARKER SCORES FOR RAVENCLAW, MAKING THE SCORE ONE HUNDRED AND TEN TO EIGHTY, AS THE TWO SEEKERS HEAD FOR THE SNITCH!”

Rapt by the chase, I barely notice Cassia’s tugging on my arm, and cheering erupts from the Hufflepuff stands as Donovan catches the Snitch, just a second faster than Chang.

The players land on the ground, and there’s some stumbling as their feet return to solid ground. The match lasted nearly five hours – that’s much longer than any of the previous matches this year, and it might be one of the longest ones in Hogwarts history.

We all leave the pitch, ready for lunch. Since the match lasted a lot longer than the first two of the season, we were all chilled through to the bone, despite the warming charms. Cassia managing to stay through almost the whole match without fuss was an achievement, though I could feel her fidgeting by the end. Regardless, I’m proud of her.

Cassia ran on ahead, expelling all the energy that had acculturated during the hours of standing still. The whole school, bar the two teams that had played, was heading inside at once, and I lost physical sight of my sister, though I could feel her mind strong and steady. As we trained more and more with Legilimency, her mind was becoming easier and easier for me to keep track of with less effort on my part.

Meaning I could also feel when the flash of red light bounced off the shield protecting her. Cassia screamed. People scattered out my way. Harry followed, hot on my heels. My sister jumped into my arms, crying into my shoulder.

In that moment alone, I didn’t care what might expose me. Someone just tried to attack my sister. My wand was in my free hand as I scanned the minds of the crowd, finding the guilty party. It surprised me to see Panay Parkinson as the guilty one, but the surprise wasn’t enough for me to stop.

I hand Cassia over to Harry, who’s watching the situation grow with a worried expression. I barely acknowledge the fear in his mind that I’m going to hurt someone.

“You think you can stun my sister that easily?” I practically growl at the girl, whose aura is saturating itself in fear as seconds pass by. “What kind of coward tries to attack a seven-year-old anyway?”

Draco’s not with the crowd of Slytherins – I don’t know where he is. Two other noticeable absences are Nott and Zabini; this feels like something was planned to get Draco out of the way. My wand levels on Parkinson, and none of the Slytherins react visually. Their minds are a different story.

“Maeve! She’s not worth it,” Ron insists, appearing at my side.

“Come on, Cassia’s fine,” Seamus added from my other side, and I eyed the growing crowd. Covering up a Walters reveal now would be impossible. Or at least, improbable enough that I don’t want to test it.

“That is not the point,” I hiss at Seamus. My wand didn’t waver, even as Professor Snape and Tonks joined the group.

Reluctantly, I lowered my wand, just as Snape asked icily: “What is going on here?”

Even with Tonks here, I don’t want this to turn into another detention for me, for my threat, when Parkinson actually carried out the deed.

“Parkinson sent a stunner at my sister,” I say coldly, and Snape glared at me, as if he wasn’t asking me. But I could see that he knew the truth, and he had a role to fulfil. Bastard spy – he can do nothing other than agree with the Slytherins.

“Check her wand,” I snap. “At least pretend you’re not biased, Professor.” Seamus squeezed my hand in warning. There was no way I would get away with that comment. Seeing his silent decision not to do that, I ran a hand through my hair in frustration.

My decision is a Walters decision, not an Ellis decision, but I had to do it. Instead of compromising Snape’s position to the Order, I dive into Parkinson’s mind, cringing at the contents. I sift through her memories momentarily, finding that I was definitely right. Then, I took control. I have not done this for years, and yet the practice comes easily back to me, as if I had done it everyday for years. Rigorous Legilimency training throughout my childhood was enough that I would never forget any of these skills, even if I refused to use Legilimency for years on end.

“It’s true,” Parkinson admitted, the words sounding natural as I fed them into her mind, letting just enough of her natural speech pattern fall through. “Ellis should be more careful.” It was subtly threatening, but it was an undeniably a confession. One that Snape has no choice but to listen to, especially since Tonks is right here too.

Parkinson doesn’t offer her wand – that might have been a step too far, beyond just merely suspicious. Instead, she says to me, “I’m no coward, Ellis, but Mudbloods have no place at Hogwarts.”

“Congratulations, Miss Parkinson, you just landed yourself in detention,” Snape said in a bored tone. “Miss Ellis will also serve a detention; I will discuss that with you now. Now everyone else, get to lunch.”

The dismissive tone left no room for argument, and I stood stonily as the school passed, all headed to lunch. Most students hurried past deliberating without looking our way, but a few people I knew sent encouraging and sympathetic smiles my way. When the grounds were almost empty, just myself and Snape, he turned to me.

“Those weren’t Parkinson’s words, were they?” He asked, only a little bit of accusation in his tone. More curious than anything. Huh.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Professor,” I say with a neutral face. “Perhaps she just had a sudden bout of honesty. We will never know.”

“Call it professional curiosity,” Snape pushed, without malice, and I shrugged.

“In truth, I saw a situation where your hands were tied, and I took over, because the first-years watching this situation don’t need to see a professor in a position of trust openly siding with an obviously guilty party. But, of course, it’s untraceable, so don’t bother. You may hate me, Professor, and rest assured that I do not forgive you, but outside this castle we are equals in the Order.”

“You take too many risks,” the professor hissed, looking around the empty grounds. I knew, over and above everything, he was a paranoid man, and for a good cause. Which is exactly why I had chosen to be so brazen with my words.

“Don’t underestimate me. Anyone walking past will see you assigning me the most horrific detention you can come up with,” I say, gesturing to the almost-invisible glamour shrouding us. The professor was momentarily stunned as he spotted the magic, then recovered himself.

“Then see me on Monday night for detention. Parkinson will serve her detention then too, to keep you on a level field with her,” Snape told me, and I nodded curtly, before taking down the glamour with a wave of my hand. His face didn’t change, but I saw the fleeting feeling of being outmatched in his aura, and grinned.

The professor stalked off, and I headed inside, joining my friends late for lunch. Harry saved me a seat and when I sit, Cassia climbs into my lap, her face stained with tears.

_It’s going to be okay, baby_ , I assure her, and she just clings to my robes, refusing to speak. All of the doubts rush back to me, my initial inhibitions about bringing my sister to Hogwarts, where she is so obviously the vulnerable party. With all the anti-muggleborn sentiment worming its way around the school as well, this year, it’s more of a risk than ever. And, though I’m hoping the war to be long done by the time Cassia’s eleven, if it’s not, then my sister is going to be in danger in the castle, without my defence. It’s not a thought I want to linger on. 

“I could kill them all,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else, but Harry hears, and the alarm on his face is clear. “I’m not actually going to,” I add, unconvincingly. Seamus raises his eyebrows at me, and I bite my lip, refusing to say anything else aloud. Better not to incriminate myself before I’ve even formulated a plan.

I glance at the Slytherin table, and Draco’s still not there, though Zabini is.

I focus in on Zabini’s mind, sifting through the top layers of information. His shielding is poor at best, but I slip past it unnoticed. I search for Draco through his memories, finding the older memories on the top – a classic Legilimency defence strategy. Give the attacker the old information, the useless information first. Harry whacks my arm, bringing me abruptly away.

“What was that for?” I ask, not caring to make my voice nice. When he flinches a little, I soften my tone. “Sorry, I just- I’m concerned about Draco.”

“Malfoy will be fine,” Harry assured me, and then added mentally, _but you can’t keep on with the Legilimency, Maeve, and expect no one to notice something. Seamus is suspicious enough already. I’m surprised he doesn’t know from the sheer amount of time you spend together as Beaters._

I glanced at Seamus, and saw exactly what Harry was talking about. He’s watching me carefully, though trying to pretend that he isn’t.

I sigh. My appetite is completely lost, replaced with anger and fear, and Cassia’s fidgeting enough that I take her back to our rooms. There’s another apparition lesson this afternoon, but I don’t particularly want to leave Cassia alone. I’m the furthest ahead in my year for apparition, but still, I think I need twelve hours of lessons to qualify for taking the test, even if it is a waste of my time.

And legal apparition is crucial, especially if I choose the Auror career track. And even more so if I have to take Cassia on the run with me.

The rest of the lunch hour flies by, and I’m heading back up to the Hall, with Cassia in my arms. I bump into Luna and Ginny, and in a quick conversation, they both agree to watch her for me, just for an hour. Cassia squirms a little, but I promise she can talk to me mentally the whole time, and that Ginny and Luna will take good care of her. She agrees not longer after Luna offers to show her the kitchens.

I’m nearly late for apparition, but take the final space on the floor, between Justin and Hannah, the two Hufflepuff prefects.

The ministry wizard begins droning on again, and my mind is everywhere other than in this hall, trying to learn to apparate. When I miss the first attempt completely and don’t even move, I feel the professors’ eyes on me. Apparating in and out of the hoop is becoming a second-nature task – I want something a little more difficult. On the second group attempt, I perfectly apparate into the hoop.

The Ministry wizard has a silent word with McGonagall, and he calls me to the front. He lets everyone else continue at their own pace, attempting the apparition.

“Your professors agree with me saying you’re finding this too easy?” He poses it as a question, and I nod. “The next step is increasing the distance, so I suggest you …” his voice drones on, and I set my jaw impatiently.

In a rash moment’s decision, I apparate away, appearing again at the opposite corner of the room, exactly where I meant to be. Students who had been only paying attention to our conversation look around the room, spotting me in the corner. I apparate back, appearing directly in the spot I was stood in before.

“Like that?” I ask, nicely enough. The wizard is stunned, and McGonagall is biting back a grin. “Don’t patronise me; I’m at these lessons because I have to fulfil the requirement to register for the test. That’s all.”

My brash confidence provokes an annoyance in the wizard. “To pass the ministry apparition test, you must be capable of side-along apparitions but there is no minimum lesson requirement, not anymore. The law has been changed this year.”

I spot the lie in his mind instantly, but if this is the game he wants to play then I’m happy to play it. In actuality, the side-along apparition requirement is for Auror training, which he unfortunately knows I want to pursue. But, if he’s saying I can register for an early test with an Auror training program, then I’m not going to argue with that. Giving myself a reputation with the Auror department as Maeve Ellis is probably a good idea.

_Harry, do you mind?_ I ask mentally, and he rolls his eyes at me across the room, but nods once.

I walk over to him, take his hand, and apparate, putting as much power in as the apparition needs to draw out of me. Harry and I reappear, in tact, in the opposite corner of the room.

“Happy?” I ask the ministry official, who is totally baffled. It’s the third hour of apparition practice, and in his experience, he’s never had a pupil quite like me.

He nods across the room, and I smile, walking out of the Great Hall, and back to my sister.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -Caity B xx


	39. Potions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: none
> 
> Next chapter published on: Thursday 28th January 2021
> 
> Enjoy!

I spend all of Saturday afternoon with Cassia, just me and my sister. Anything I can to keep her happy, I do. We paint, and do gymnastics, and drink hot chocolate with marshmallows. I ignore the existence of any of my schoolwork, and while Cassia practices some Legilimency shields, I work on the wards, tightening every crack, and soon they’re as strong as the external castle wards.

No one is getting in here any time soon. Cassia is safe.

We don’t go down to dinner, upon Cassia’s request. Instead, the house-elves take care of us, bringing snack/picnic type foods. Sandwiches and scones and cakes; not the healthiest options but I can’t bring myself to care. We sit in front of the fire, Cassia’s energy slowly coming back to her, and she’s almost completely returned to the bubbly seven-year-old I always see when Harry’s name appears on my ring. She’s clambered into my lap, with a book on her lap – my first-year charms textbook. With her advancement in Legilimency power, she needs the rest of her magic to keep up, and out of all the subjects I offered, this was her first choice.

She can’t do any of the magic without a wand, of course, but the theory counts for more than most people assume when first starting out with magic, and it has always been a Walters opinion that Hogwarts doesn’t do enough theory.

Cassia, can Harry come in? I ask, and she nods enthusiastically. The door swings open at my permission, and he sits down on the floor beside me.

“You missed a confrontation,” Harry informed me, and I sighed. It was the main reason I let Cassia so easily persuade me out of going to the Hall. “And, I have never seen someone from the Ministry so ruffled; it took him a while after you left before he could get everyone’s attention.”

I smirked a little, and my mind returned to the question I’d been wondering all afternoon.

“No, Malfoy wasn’t at dinner – haven’t seen him at all,” Harry supplied, and I managed a smile, but internally, my worry was growing. Even if he found out about my mind-controlling, he wouldn’t react this childishly by ignoring me, right?

I should like to think we could talk it out. But maybe that’s the Ellis optimism talking.

Harry nudged my shoulder, and I smile affectionately at my sister, who had managed to fall asleep with the book falling to the floor.

_I’ll be back in a minute, okay? Please stay,_ I ask Harry, and he nods. I put Cassia to bed, and she barely stirs as we move. Today rattled her, unsurprisingly, but I feel as if I should have been able to do something more than just threaten Parkinson after the event occurred.

“Maeve, it wasn’t your fault,” Harry assured me as I came back down the stairs. I huffed out a laugh.

“How do you know me so well?” I ask with a grin that didn’t quite meet my eyes.

Harry pretended to think. “Well, not sure where I heard it, but I reckon someone once told me we were friends.”

“Friends don’t let friends suffer alone; I’ve done a shit job of that this year,” I admit, flopping onto the sofa.

“Maeve, you are doing everything at once; you don’t have to be looking after us as well,” Harry reasoned, taking my hand and squeezing it. “There are only so many hours in a day.”

“I’m sure there is an illegal time-turner knocking about somewhere in Walters Manor,” I joke, and Harry shoots me a glare. “Kidding,” I add, though I’m probably right. The Ministry’s search of the Manor was thorough after the attack – they’d been waiting years to have access for a raid – but there are several rooms in the Manor that only a Walters can get into – a variation on the spell around some of the books. And I truly have no idea what is in any of those rooms.

There’s a pause. Then, “So what are you researching?”

“How to win this war, without having to resort to anything illegal,” I say, easily enough. And it was true – true enough anyway. “Dumbledore’s plan sucks, so I’m replacing it.”

“You read Dumbledore’s mind?” Harry asked, stunned. I nodded with a raise of my eyebrows.

“Is that judgement I’m hearing?”

Harry shook his head. “Just surprised, Maevey. What’s Dumbledore’s plan?” He asks, and I lock my jaw.

“Shit, not worth dwelling on,” I say, quickly. “What I’m planning is perhaps a touch more dramatic, and has far fewer casualties.” He accepted my answer with little fight, and some of the tension left my mind. 

“Are you going to expand on your own plan?” He asks, and I shake my head.

“Not until I’m sure it will work,” I say, and Harry nods his understanding. I wave my hand, and the room clears itself up, the open charms textbook neatly stacking on the pile of my other first-year books.

“How’s the nightmares?” I ask gently, and Harry shrugs.

“Shielding is helping, but it still happens every so often, maybe once a week,” he says, trying to keep his tone casual even as his body instinctively tenses up at the subject.

I lean my head on his shoulder, and Harry takes my hand in his. “It takes time for it to set in and work all the time – even then, I get the odd nightmare every so often, and I’ve been doing this for years.”

Harry is silent for a long while, and I don’t push him for the questions hovering at the front of his mind. I stare at the fire, losing myself in my thoughts. The only noise in the room is the crackling fire, and an almost-silent tinkling of Cassia’s mobile.

“Maeve,” Harry started, and I sat up, hearing the serious undertones in his voice. “Recently, I’ve noticed you’re a lot more Walters than Ellis; I’m worried you’re going to do something accidentally, that you think is normal, and it ruin your cover.”

I set my jaw, refusing to meet his eyes. I know he’s right, but it does not mean I like the idea of it.

“I know,” I say tiredly, “If I didn’t have Cassia to consider, I likely would have already done it, and intentionally at that. I’m sick of lying, of hiding half of myself from everyone.”

“But, as today proved, I’m incapable of looking after Cassia, and maybe she should still be living with Hannah.”

Harry shook his head. “Maevey, you did look after her – Cassia was shielded, and no one got hurt. There’s a risk wherever she is – the world is just like that at the moment. As much as I hate them, the Dursleys are in danger by association with me, and there’s nothing I can do about that. But, you, Maeve, can keep Cassia safe. Don’t doubt that,” he assured me, and I nodded with a lump in my throat.

I magically set a kettle going, letting a few simple charms make tea.

“Can I- how do I show you a memory?”

I ran my tongue over my teeth, considering the easiest way to do this.

“Focus on it, and I can read it from the front of your mind,” I say, a little apprehensive. “If that’s not too Walters for you,” I add with a grin.

He rolls his eyes, but does as I instruct, a clear memory forming at the front of his mind.

The Gryffindor Common Room came into view, and all the sixth years, bar myself, were sat in the armchairs and sofas around the fire.

_“How does one very nicely tell a witch much more powerful than oneself that we think she could do with a bit of help every now and then?” Neville asked the group with a hesitant smile. They were talking about me. Right._

_“In truth, I haven’t figured that out yet,” Harry answered, a little downcast. “She’s perpetually independent, and is unlikely to listen to an individual one of us.”_

_“She was chatty enough after we spent a night together,” Seamus said with a wicked grin, and Dean slapped his friend._

_“So, to get Maeve to open up and talk to us, we all got to shag her?” Ron asked in disbelief. “This is why you don’t make the plans Seamus.”_

_“Maybe you could talk to her in Magical Creatures?” Neville suggested to Dean. “Maybe it’s all the blood purity stuff that’s worrying her?”_

_Harry, Ron and Hermione stayed silent as Dean agreed, saying he would talk to me during the next lesson._

_“But in case that doesn’t work, then we need another plan,” Dean insisted, and neither of the trio said anything._

_“What is it that we’re missing? We can’t help her if we only have half the information,” Seamus asked with a raised eyebrow at Harry. The Beater sat up straight in the armchair and was critically surveying Harry and Ron on the opposite sofa._

_“It’s no surprise that Maeve has secrets,” Hermione interjected. “Even when she was living right here with us, there were still things she was just handling out of our line of sight. Don’t pin that on Harry. If you want to know, ask Maeve yourself.”_

_Seamus slumped back, muttering an apology. “I’m just worried about her and there’s nothing she will let us do to help.”_

The memory ended, and I jolted back to my own mind, quickly wiping at the tears on my face.

“Let us in, Maevey. Please.”

I swallow carefully. “I’ll try, I promise. I can’t say I’m going to tell all of Gryffindor that I’m a Walters, but but I’ll do my best,” I promise, and Harry squeezes my hand in thanks.

“Are you heading back to the Tower tonight, or would you like to stay?”

Judging by Draco’s non-appearance so far, and since the castle’s warning bell for curfew has already rung, I doubt that he’s going to show up tonight.

“Yeah, I’ll stay but Malfoy might murder me if we sleep in the same bed,” Harry says with a rueful smile.

As the mugs of tea float over, Harry almost upsets one with his startled movements.

“Bloody hell, Maeve, I don’t know how you do that.”

“I’m a Walters,” I say with a wink, and Harry rolls his eyes.

***

The next morning, Harry, Cassia and I head out to Quidditch practice early, and meet the team in the Gryffindor changing room.

I make the effort in front of the team to join in and open up a little more than usual, though once we’re on the pitch, there’s not really a way I can do that.

Training lasts until breakfast, and is successful enough. We still have nearly two months before our next match, against Hufflepuff, and we went over some of the key defensive skills and counters to the moves they were reliant on in the match against Ravenclaw yesterday.

Seamus pulled me aside before we head into the showers, and waits until everyone is out of earshot.

I had a suspicion, based off the memory Harry showed me yesterday, what this conversation would entail, and one look at Seamus’ mind showed me to be correct.

“Maeve, I- I am shit with words, but are you okay?”

I internally debate the words before I say them, and weigh up everything, trying to see what he could glean from my words. I chided myself for such secrecy.

“I’m struggling a little, yeah. All the muggleborn conflicts are getting to be a lot to handle, when I’m on my guard all the time, you know?”

“What if you moved back into Gryffindor Tower?”

I smile at the suggestion, but shake my head. “What if Cassia’s not a Gryffindor? I don’t want any pressure on her for when she can come to Hogwarts as a student.”

Seamus nodded his understanding. “I just – we want to see more of you, Maevey, if that’s not too much to ask.”

I punch him jokingly in the shoulder. “‘Course not, I’ll make sure to drop in more often, I promise.”

Seamus grins at me, and we head off separately to the showers, cleaning up before we can go for a late breakfast.

*

It’s after lunch that I arranged for my Potions class to happen, and I set up early, ditching out on my friends under the excuse of being with Draco, who still hasn’t spoken with me.

Cassia ‘helps’ me set up for the afternoon, but in reality, I shift the desks with magic, laying out ingredients on the front bench, all in separate piles of what they are. This potion isn’t difficult per say, but with the way Snape teaches it, we learn it every year for the first three years of our education here.

I know there must be a more effective way to learn it – it’s how I learnt it as a Walters, pre-Hogwarts. I nicknamed it the Rainbow Potion when I was growing up, and it’s something that has stayed with me.

The students start arriving as lunch ends, and there’s a nervousness in the room at the sight of the cauldrons laid out on the benches.

The front desk is filled with vials, containing the different coloured liquids of different consistencies and then piles of the solid ingredients. Possibly the vials of blood are the most disconcerting, but in healing potions, it is a surprisingly common ingredient. When I think of this potion, its complexity is not the number of ingredients, but the order of the colours. Initially, it is just about waiting for it to change colour in the order of a rainbow. There is no complicated anti clockwise or clockwise motion staring specific numbers of times. Just many colour changes.

I get all the students to gather around the front desk and once everyone is here, we go through the ingredients one-by-one. I go over the properties of the ingredients, the other things that they would see and use the ingredients for and then a brief bit of information about the actual purpose of the potion. Besides the fact that it is one of the most repetitively taught potions, it is surprisingly versatile, and will accommodate more mistakes than the average brew. It is a healing potion and can cure many many injuries, so Pomphrey in the hospital wing always has a stock ready. The antidotal properties as well aren't to be overlooked.

I have borrowed the spare cauldrons from Potions Lap Two, without permission, however I very much doubt Snape will miss them on this random Sunday afternoon. I have depleted my own personal stock of potion base but if we don't want to be here all night then we have to have some starting point ahead of the raw materials. When students do this in class, they've made the base in a previous lesson and it's just been stored so I don't feel too bad about taking the same shortcut Snape does.

The first step of the potion is salamander blood and, as I tell other students, it starts in a rainbow.

"So, to the base we add some salamander but until it's a rich, deep red like the rainbows we all drew as kids. Then you have to stir it until it goes orange and that's your next colour. Once it is orange, add more of the blood. There should be enough in the vial for the whole potion but add it on a drop-by-drop basis so that you don't overdo it. You know when to stop by the time it turns yellow your next rainbow colour." In reality, I am not surprised Snape of all teachers doesn't teach based on rainbow colours – it is probably too informal. But, if it helps them learn then I see no problem.

Cassia has joined Sarah and Alice in the brain and she's watching them carefully with an academic interest I know I didn't have at age seven. Alice gives her a turn stirring the potion, and Cassia giggles when it turns from red to orange.

"Once the potions gone yellow, you need to stir again until it goes grass-green. When it's green, it's stable enough that I'd like everyone to wait until we are all at the same level. The next few instructions need to be carried out quickly after that so I'd like to just go through what we're doing all together and then I'll let you go and do it."

I corrected a first year before she manages to mess up the potion – she started adding more blood a little too early and despite this being deemed a basic potion, deviation from the instructions can leave it to be less potent and mostly ineffective.

I've never been in a potions class so chatty, however I love it. Students are discussing potions like they're actually like it rather than their having to do it because it's an OWL subject, and they are stuck with it until fifth year.

Despite Snape knowing his doing when it comes to potions, he has no idea how to teach, how to make people enjoy the process of learning. If only he could make people enjoy Potions, then he'd have a much bigger NEWTs class. But then again I'm not sure that's what he wants.

Once the potions take on the correct green hue, everyone returns to the front desk and I go through the next instructions.

"So we need to add more of the salamander blood until the patient turns a turquoise blue colour. This is when we have to turn on the heat – can we all remember the charm to turn up and down the heat on under cauldrons?" The second and third years are confident in the spell – it is a useful one. Some of the first year there are little shakier – they have only been doing Potions since September. "Well, if you're not quite sure, don't be afraid to ask. Then once you're in a deep indigo colour add more blood should be what's left in the vial. This will turn the potion a baby pink colour and then we start turning up the heat. If heated enough once it goes back to red."

They all head back, confidence growing as this Potions class becomes possibly the most enjoyed one since Snape took over the position as Potions’ Master of the school. I'm not sure how he would react to me teaching potions especially without his permission and with borrowed cauldrons. But it's too late now to turn back, and I don’t particularly care for his opinion.

There are very few mistakes and I am beginning to see the correlation between nervousness and careless errors. Cassia is enjoying herself, and, inadvertently, I have managed to create an environment where I don't have to be so on my guard. Although, I guess that was the point, to help protect the younger year groups, but I never thought that would apply to my sister.

When the potions start turning red again, I call out: "if you all come and grab 10 lionfish spines and when your potion is ready add five of them and turn up the heat again."

With everyone at slightly different stages, it is testing my memory as to exactly what is the next step when different students ask, but I have had this potion floating around in my mind for so many years that it's not too much of a challenge.

"When your potion is yellow after the first five spines at the next five and one of the portions of the Flobberworm mucus that I've labelled out at the front for you."

Much of the potions prep work I did ahead of time, but that's only because I didn't have enough knives and cutting boards for individual students to be doing this. Besides if we do more potions practice over the coming weeks that I'm happy to devote time specifically to how to prepare the ingredients. After all is one of the most crucial skills – badly prepped ingredients equals bad potion no matter if you follow the rest of the instruction perfectly.

"The Flobberworm mucus should turn the potion purple – if it doesn't just pause there and let me come and have a look."

Two Slytherin first years catch my attention, and I go over. The potion is a light lilac rather than the same deep indigo as before. Every potion can be fixed part-way through at very specific stages – luckily, this is one of them. I add a little extra of Flobberworm mucus and another half of a lionfish spine and stir the potion. Soon, it is turning the right shade of vibrant red that is typical at this stage. Again, this is another thing that Snape doesn't teach – he typically liked likes to vanish failed attempts at potions and make someone start again. But why waste ingredients when you don't need to?

"Now, once it's back to that red colour, add more Flobberworm mucus until it goes orange and then stir until it turns Hufflepuff yellow. The next stage is quite crucial and it is done immediately afterwards – you need to add a vial of honey water and then it should go back to the bluish turquoise."

In a couple of hasty and careless movements, there is glass on the floor. Thankfully, they were just empty vials but the whole room stiffens. This is the impression Snape gives his younger years. I put on a reassuring smile.

"There's no problem with breaking things," I say, "Magic remember?" As I say this, I take out my wand and fix the vials, levitating them back onto the table and into a rack.

There is a collective sigh of relief, as if they all remember that it is not Snape teaching this class. Judging by the emotional atmosphere in this room, they all knew it wasn't going to be a big deal. However fear becomes a second instinct in a potions environment. Damn that professor.

"Now the potion needs a few drops of boom berry juice; five drops of the most. This shouldn't change the colour of the potion too drastically – it might darken a little."

I helped reteach the fire control charm to a few first years who are struggling to adjust their flame and are boiling the hell out of the potion. We learn this spell very briefly with Snape in first year, but then it gets re-taught at the beginning of second year in Charms class. Anyone who didn't like Snape's teaching of this spell had a whole year of struggling through it before you were taught it by a competent chance professor.

"Stir for three minutes and then we have to leave the potion for thirty to simmer. In that time, if anyone would like to practice shield charms and happy to help with that too."

I take note of the time using a tempus spell, much to the amazement of some of the first years had never heard of it.

I refuse to let expelliarmus charms fly round the room when there are so many potions and fires around, however shield charms are much less destructive and I don't mind distracting a little, instead of cleaning up. Magic cleans them that much more effectively than the students ever would.

The third years that got the shield charm last time strengthen it – not to any degree that would stop me, but it is possible that it would stop some of the fifth- and sixth-year spells.

I work more heavily with the younger ones, and after not too long some of the second years of producing wisps of a shield, much to their own excitement. By the end of the half an hour’s simmering time, one of the first years has even managed to make those same wisps. My mood has sky-rocketed directly according to how well everyone else is doing and how far my teaching is going to increase their confidence. Maybe I should consider a career in teaching.

"Okay so that was half an hour." With a flick of my wand, all of the fires in the room go out and the potions begin to cool.

“Rule number one of brewing potions: never drink a hot potion," I say with the utmost seriousness. The difference isn't merely in the change in temperature, often changes the entire effect of the potion. In this case a healing potion wouldn't heal – instead of being an antidote to the Draught of Living Death, they would be Living Death, or at least, a similar version of it, perhaps with slightly different effects.

I briefly inspect the cauldrons, and give out any constructive feedback to need to – which isn’t often.

I wonder about bottling these up and sending them to Pomphrey; they could pass if they passed her quality control then perhaps they could actually be used. It would tell Snape that I'd been brewing mass potions behind his back but it is a bit late now. There’s no sense in them going to waste.

It is before dinner when I send them all off, content to bottle up potions from myself and the gratitude is overwhelming. Hopefully the first and second years should be brewing this potion again tomorrow with Snape in class, and I hope that they will surprise him. And maybe make some of those pure blood Slytherins he favours so much look bad.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Caity B xx


	40. Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: it's angsty time, guys I'm sorry :(
> 
> Next Chapter: Sunday 31st January 2021
> 
> Enjoy!

***

When I returned with Cassia from dinner on Sunday, Draco was already waiting for me, dressed in his Quidditch robes as he had been during the meal. Cassia disappeared off upstairs, determined to start drawing for Hermione – even my sister had noticed the Gryffindor’s downcast manner at the table. She was still taking her potion, keeping her body healthy, but something was drawing her away again.

My eyes flickered in confusion across his closed-off mind, and I nodded, stepping back a little with hands raised up.

“I’m not reading your mind, Draco. You don’t need to be so defensive.”

The Slytherin’s face hardened, and I bit my lip. Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. The wrong assurance to make. Without the Legilimency use I am so reliant on, I was almost blind. 

“Maeve, I-” Emotion rippled in his eyes, and he breathed steadily, intentionally, as he continued. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

I swallowed carefully, keeping my voice even as panic rose in my throat. “What do you mean?”

Draco’s control seemed to all shatter at once; it didn’t take long for the emotions to explode out of him. “You! You deliberately manipulate me, avoid truths and exploit loopholes in your promises! And you’re still holding back more secrets! I can’t do this, Maeve,” Draco yelled, “Blaise and Theo told me about what happened on the train, Maeve, when they tried to come and find me. Neither of them could explain it, but I knew instantly you had to be involved. You took control of all of their minds and sent them away! It’s too much, Maeve, beyond too much. Do you know how illegal that is?”

I fought to keep my body upright, rigidity framing my spine. I stomp down on throwing back at him what the pair of them did to me – I can hardly believe Draco hasn’t figured that out. And yesterday’s stunt with Cassia. “I’m aware of the law, don’t patronize me. Did you figure out why I did that?” I asked slowly, my voice cold. Draco doesn’t answer, glaring at me. “I thought they were going to hurt you, to attack you, after what happened at Christmas with you refusing the Mark. Turns out they were just jealous, but I thought I was protecting you.”

Draco scoffs, refusing to listen to the meaning of my words. “I don’t need your protection, I can handle myself.”

“And if you had to turn on your friends? I didn’t want you to have to make that choice,” I tried to argue back, but his eyes blazed with new anger.

“You can’t just use your magic to get out of difficult situations, Maeve! Some things need to be said, need to be argued over. And, you’re hardly one to talk about arguing with your friends. You don’t argue, you just leave them. I don’t want to stick around long enough for that to happen to me.”

“Don’t bring in things you don’t understand,” I snapped, and Draco raised an eyebrow at me, challengingly. He was so oblivious when it came to his friends, and this was exactly the reason why I didn’t want him to make the choice. Because he has some special talent of never seeing the wrong in his mates’ actions, and always managing to criticize mine. “I left over the summer because my _sister_ needed me and because she had no one else in the magical world.”

Draco laughing mirthlessly. “Stop playing the _everyone needs me_ card; even you aren’t that naïve.”

“Oh, just fuck off, Draco. You’re looking for a fight, and you’re just mad because you’ve suddenly realized what I told you all along is true. When I first told you about my Legilimency, about being a Walters, you knew what that meant.”

I move away from the door, and towards the stairs, but a stunner flies across the room, blocking my exit. I turn around in disbelief.

“You don’t get to leave until I’ve said what I came to,” Draco said, breathing heavily, and I leaned back against the wall, waiting with a forced but lazy expression. My arms folded tightly across my chest, keeping any magic that might act out of its own firmly locked down. An involuntary explosion could get someone hurt, and despite Draco being a dick, I don’t want to hurt him.

“You need to stay away from me, and my friends. You need to-”

“I don’t take kindly to people telling me what to do, especially when they’ve stormed into my room and yelled at me. What is your point, Malfoy?”

Resolve began to crumble in Draco’s eyes as I reverted back to the use of his surname. But only for a second before he hid the evidence again, taking on the Malfoy sneer I know all too well from the first five years of school with him.

“You should leave,” Draco told me, his voice back to a monotone. “A Legilimens in Hogwarts that no one knows about is dangerous.”

“Is that an option or an order?” I asked in a low tone. “Because I don’t think you have the kind of power to give an order, and if it’s optional, you know I’m not going to listen to you.”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek, considering me with a mocking air. “Well, you truly are all about power, aren’t you?”

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Malfoy,” I snap back, and he rolls his eyes.

“Why would I be jealous of you? Little nobody who hides everything she is from everyone she cares for. It’s a bit of a sad life, isn’t it, Walters?”

“Shall we fix that problem? Why don’t you go run home to Daddy and tell him he didn’t finish the job? Ooh look, Maeve Walters, she’s still alive. Perhaps Daddy would tell your Dark Lord, and then where do I end up?” I snarl, my anger finally getting the better of me. He blanches, and I set my jaw, refusing to regret the anger that took hold of my mind. “You can’t attack me for being a nobody when it’s everyone in your family who caused that. You have no right.”

The desire to get out overwhelms my senses – I refuse to let myself break down in the middle of an argument. A Walters should be stronger than that, always.

“You know that wasn’t my fault,” he mutters, staring at the floor.

“Well, it was hardly my fucking fault either,” I snap at him. “The Legilimency nor the power I have isn’t my fault. How I use it is my choice, and I did what I thought was right at the time. But do go on, I’m intrigued. You tell the school, then what? I am a dead witch walking. Is that what you want from me Draco? You needn’t go to such dramatic lengths to clear your conscience when it would be your fault if I’m dead. If Cassia’s dead.”

My throat closes up, but I keep the defiance in my eyes, reaching out to find my sister’s mind as reassurance that this horrible future isn’t the truth. I block the emotions radiating out of Draco; I don’t want to know.

_Cassia, why don’t we go and see Hermione?_ I called out, and she came bounding down the stairs with an abundance of energy, jumping into my arms. I don’t turn back to Draco as we leave the room, though Cassia stretches in my arms towards Draco, and the movement wrenches my heart. She’s become attached, feeling like she can depend on him, but in reality, a reality I should have seen coming, she can’t, and neither can I.

Before I leave the room, I stop. “Ask Pansy why she has detention tomorrow,” I mutter, just loud enough for him to hear. “I am sure I deserve it, but I will not let you take my sister down with me.”

Exhaustion grips my body as I climb the steps with Cassia in my arms, and I’m glad to put her down when we reach the common room. I collapse into one of the empty armchairs, lazily watching my sister as she gains everyone’s attention, before curling my knees up into my chest and falling asleep.

I sleep dreamlessly for two hours before the general noise of the common room wakes me. Cassia is sitting happily in Harry’s lap, and he is reading her a story, or she’s showing him the animation of one, more likely.

“Wakey wakey, Maeve,” Seamus called across the group of sixth-years with a grin.

I send him a glare, and he rolls his eyes at me.

“You missed the curfew bell,” Ron informed me, looking up from his assignment. “Try not to get caught by Snape on your way down; he hates you enough already.”

I manage a smile, enough to fool Ron, but when Harry catches the forced look, his attention shifts from my sister. I give him an almost imperceptible shake of my head, and he sighs. Forcing my argument with Draco out of my head is difficult, and my eyes stay firmly on my sister as my reminder for why I said all those things. I need to protect her, I _tried_ to protect her, but I think instead I just exposed the both of us.

I catch the looks of some of the students I tutor in my attempt to distract myself, worried glances between them and almost pleading ones my way. I call Alice’s name across the room, and her and Sarah come over. I ignore the questioning looks from my year-mates, and Sarah takes my outstretched hand.

“Tell me what happened,” I request softly, and then, “Please, Sarah, tell me. Whatever it is, I can help.”

Her eyes flicker nervously to the attention she’s drawn, and I resist the urge to read through her scattered thoughts to find the information I need. Her aura is filled with panic and nerves, and it’s overwhelming me. My attempt at blocking it out is futile.

“First-years haven’t come back,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “They were practicing like you taught us, and they haven’t come back yet.”

I pass Sarah into Alice’s arms as the smaller girl cries, and I push the blanket off me – I don’t remember there being a blanket – as I stand up.

“I have so many questions,” Ron broke into the silence.

“And I probably won’t answer them,” I say with a sweet, venomous smile as I leave the common room. I have the most horrible feeling I know what their delay is, and it turns my stomach.

Harry runs after me, and I stop abruptly on the stairs.

“What are you doing?” I ask in annoyance, and he gives me the _are-you-serious_ face. “Go back to the tower. I’ll be there soon, Potter.”

Harry didn’t move, and I tried to ignore the wounded nature of his aura as I walked away, breaking into a run as soon as I was around the corner. My warpath this evening wasn’t supposed to include Harry. Nor any of my friends. And yet, it has, and without any explanation too. I can apologize later - now I need to focus. 

I reached the classroom in three minutes, and, with my wand in hand, paused at the door to listen. Cracks of magic and crying rang out, and I burst down whatever magic was keeping the door locked in a second, ignorant of whatever levels of power had been used to create it.

The first years were huddled, terrified, in a corner, and a group of eight older students were laughing and grinning at their fear. Their expressions froze momentarily at the sight of me, and I gave them a devilish smile as I casually swung my wand in my hand.

“Oh, look, another mudblood,” laughed Goyle, and one of the seventh-years lunged at me, hitting an invisible shield, and bouncing to the floor.

“That wasn’t friendly,” I say, in a flat tone. “I thought purebloods had manners.” As I talked, I sized up my options, both with and without Legilimency. One was significantly easier than the other. But, one option exposes me entirely, without question. I needed to be careful not to do that.

“I seem to recall last time saying if Nott and Zabini attacked anyone again, I’d leave them dead in an empty classroom,” I muse aloud, reading the terror coming from the stoic-looking Slytherins.

“Shut up, bitch,” Crabbe snapped and sent a horrible-looking curse my way. It bounced off the shield, and I reinforced it wandlessly, a little concerned at the kind of magic he was using. Cast to kill. Or, at the least, very seriously injure. 

“Careful, careful, now. Don’t set off the dark magic wards, now. All the professors will be here, and then where would you be?” I scold. The more pissed off they are, the more likely they are to get sloppy with their magic. Which would give me a decent alibi as to how I could beat eight wizards trained in Dark Magic by Death Eaters. A flash of worry darts between them; the prospect of exposure rattles them, especially with Dumbledore so close by. 

As I talk, I weave an invisible ward between the petrified first-years and the angry Slytherins. As strong as I dare to make it, with a feature on it that the first year’s vision of the rest of the room is distorted and vague. Rebounded spells heading their way, from either myself or the Slytherins is a scenario I desperately need to avoid. None of the Slytherins notice it. Replacing their magic I destroyed that kept the door locked is my next step as I finish the first ward. Protection first. Then keep the Slytherins where I want them.

“You really think you stand a chance?” Sneered a seventh-year, and I grin unsettlingly.

“No, I don’t think _you_ stand a chance,” I say, and unleash myself on them. I stun three of them through their poorly-concocted shield charms, breaking the shields thoroughly with less than half the power of the spell. I send a body-bind to the seventh year, who manages to deflect it with a shield, only to rebound and his one of his friends.

I grin maliciously as Goyle falls to the floor, unable to move.

Conjuring chains out of nowhere, I wrap them around the seventh-year, the chains moving like a snake of their own magic. He falls to the floor as the sensation of burning sets in; it’s a spell I found in the Walters library that manipulates pain sensors – I’m not actually damaging his body. Yet.

I do Nott no favours as I repeat the same curse from before, penetrating the shield and removing the air from his lungs. The crueller Walters within me wants him to develop a lifelong phobia, for what he’s doing to these _children._ None of them signed up for the war, and yet they are involved nonetheless, but the cowardly death eaters in this room did sign up, and to the wrong side of the war. The boy passes out, and I wait, letting the cruelty win out for a few extra seconds before I lift the curse.

In that wasted time, Zabini swore at me, and, as the last one standing, began throwing hexes and curses my way, with little regard for the dark magic wards. Before he can cast something bad enough, I take my usual trick and set up a mirroring spell, hitting him from behind with a Stunner. I've used this in Defence class already, so he should have been able to stop it. Apparently not. 

My attention can finally rest on the first-years, and I take down the ward, frantically searching them for any signs of physical injury. I find none, thankfully, and they hold each other, and the closest ones hug me, everyone crying, some softly and some in wails.   
  


I find a Ravenclaw girl nearest me, and she manages to stop her crying and tell me what happened. They noticed the warding on the door that I had left for their own practice and recognised it as something I have used on them in the past. So they broke in, and found a bunch of first years, practicing magic. Mostly muggle-borns, though there were a couple of half-bloods and a pureblood present.

They taunted and threatened them all, and were about to start cursing, or at least that was what they were saying, but I broke into the room before they could do that.

“Right, let’s get you all back to your common rooms,” I said, and we all banded together, each house refusing to split off. I hesitated with the four Slytherin first-years until one of the Hufflepuff girls said about using their dorms and their common room until something was sorted more permanently. I thanked them all gratefully, and we started together down to the dungeons.

We all entered the Hufflepuff common room, a gaggle of first years following a sixth-year Gryffindor, and the six house prefects instantly stood up and I explained the situation in as brief terms as I could.

“Justin, please, help them, they deserve none of this,” I practically begged to the boy as he hesitated, and Hannah took my arm reassuringly.

“They may stay as long as is necessary,” she spoke for their group, and I hugged the girl.

“Thank you, so much. They could all probably do with some chocolate for their nerves, too,” I add as I turn to leave with the Ravenclaws and the Gryffindors. Hannah bobs her head in agreement, and I leave their first-years in their capable hands.

We take the shortest route to the Ravenclaw tower, and I sigh in annoyance at the Eagle knocker.

“What is the truth?” the knocker asks, and I turn to the terrified first-years. I know how this works – Aunt Matilda told me all about Ravenclaw in the hopes I’d follow her footsteps in the houses. There had been no pressure for it, as Walters’ tradition dictates, but I had relatives from all houses give me the insider information, in case of any outcome of my Sorting.

“War is coming,” I answered, and the eagle nodded, with as much of a sombre air as a brass eagle can have. The truth is ugly, clearly. 

When I enter the room, older siblings flood in to find their brothers or sisters, and the Head Boy and Girl all but drag me aside.

“I’m sorry, but I had to,” I say before they have a chance to object to my presence. “We have had a bit of an incident with death-eater children,” I mutter lowly, and Isabelle’s eyes soften. Her gaze fixes on the first-years, and sympathy radiates out of her, mixed with a brief wave of anger at her own powerlessness.

“How did you answer the riddle?” Mark asked with interest, surveying his pupils to see them all in good hands.

I manage a smile. “Just because I’m not a Ravenclaw, doesn’t mean I’m not smart enough to be one.”

They let me leave, on the grounds of the scared Gryffindors all pretending to be brave, and we make the final length of the journey up to the Gryffindor common room without running into any teachers. Thankfully.

The password grants us entrance, and older students gather around, picking individual first-years to comfort and take under their wings. I slide silently out of everyone’s attention, sitting in front of the fire. Cassia’s asleep on one of the sofas carefully wrapped up in my outer robe.

I put as many shields up around me as I can, mental and physical of all kinds, and sit, motionless, as I stare at the fire and try and process. They were all attacked because of my magic, my magic that drew attention to them practicing in some random classroom. My magic trapped them there as the Slytherins tried to break it, all terrified. They didn’t stand a chance against them, and all I did was box them in.

As everything appears today, it was my fault. My fault the first-years were out on their own in the first place. My fault Draco could expose Cassia as a Walters child. My fault Draco’s afraid of me. My fault there are eight bodies in an abandoned classroom with no way for any of them to leave. My fault that I now have to decide what to do with them. My fault none of the first-years will sleep tonight.

All my fault.

***

**Harry’s POV:**

*******

When Maeve had left Harry standing in the hallway, the last word from her lips, _Potter_ , he had blanched, and the castle had refused to allow him to follow her, as he so desperately wanted to.

He knew something was wrong. But, as always with Maeve, he didn’t know any more than that. She was too good at secrets, that way. It was beginning to be unbearable. 

So, he had turned back to the Tower and returned to anxious-looking friends with no good news, and two crying third-years (that Maeve apparently knew) being comforted by Hermione and Neville. Harry barely managed to get a word out as he collapsed into Maeve’s seat, and Ron cast a concerned look at his best friend.

“Maeve’s going all Walters on us,” Harry muttered lowly, too low for anyone else to hear, but Ron’s eyes widened.

“Shit,” he mumbled, ignoring the curious glances from Seamus and Dean. “Exactly what _can_ we do about that?”

“Bugger all,” Harry replied, despair welling up. “Not sure if Malfoy can help, but we can’t get to him anyway.”

The sixth years remained tense as time continued on, and Hermione eventually got some answers out of the third-years. The taller of the girls, Alice, was more confident and explained how they knew Maeve and what was going on.

“Maeve taught you shield charms?” Seamus exclaimed, and Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. Of course, she did. Because why not teach fifth-year magic to younger students. Of course.

“Where does she get all that time?” Dean mused aloud, and Hermione shrugged.

“She dropped Arithmancy, but other than that, she shouldn’t have the time to keep up with everything she does. She’s verging on mental-breakdown territory just with the number of things she’s juggling,” Hermione informed, with the smallest hint of jealousy in her mind knowing her last comment was harsh but well-placed.

Ron glared at Hermione. “Maeve’s strong, she’ll get through whatever it is she’s going through, and who knows maybe she’ll even tell us about it.” Ron meant the words to be joking, but it was far too close to the truth for anyone to laugh. Even those in the group who didn’t know all her secrets knew she was hiding something.

“She never comes up here after dinner though – something has got to have happened,” Dean said logically, and Ginny, who had just joined them, hit Harry with a cushion. He jolted up indignantly, and the Weasley girl glared at him.

“Just go and look at the bloody map, and you’ll see where she is,” Ginny exclaimed, and Harry swore. He took the stairs two at a time, and unlocked the map, spreading it out over his bed. As he frantically searched the map, his eyes skidded to a halt at the little bubble: _Maeve_ _Walters_. The map said Maeve _Walters_. How did the map know she was a Walters? But, aside from her name, the answer to Maeve’s location only confused him more. She was in the Ravenclaw common room.

Harry took the stairs back down to the common room, map in hand, folded back up. “Ravenclaw Common Room,” Harry said, and faces shifted through stunned, and confused, and annoyed.

“Bloody Walters,” Ron muttered, and Hermione and Ginny both hit him. His ears turned red at the mistake, and the three sixth-years out of the know stared at them all.

“Ask Maeve when she gets back,” Ron said with a sigh. “She is more complicated than any of us know.”

Cassia came back to them after that, having disappeared from sight. A rush of worry came over Harry, and he tried to recall at what point had he lost track of her. She appeared to be fine, so Harry tried to let go the dread building up inside him. It was one thing to let Maeve run off, but Cassia was absolutely everything to Maeve – Harry had little doubt she would break every wizarding law for the youngest Walters. Without regret, too. 

The sixth-years fell into an uncomfortable silence, simply waiting. Cassia slipped into dreamland on the sofa, and no one could bring themselves to move her into a proper bed, in case she woke, without her sister here to comfort her.

The portrait-hole opened, and chaos ensued. First-years ran in, to brothers and sisters and cousins, other older students heading over to the first-years left alone. There was a lot of crying, and then there was Maeve. Deadly calm in the centre of a storm. Harry lost sight of her in the crowd and was pulled into helping a few younger students when all he wanted was to talk to Maeve and make sure she was okay.

Eventually, the prefects rounded everyone up and sent people to bed, older years accompanying the terrified first-years. By this point, Harry was somewhat used to the idea of his life at Hogwarts being associated with danger, but none of the younger years should have to deal with it. The quicker they could win the oncoming war, the better.

It was Neville then that interrupted Harry from his thoughts. “We can’t get Maeve to listen,” he said, and gestured over to the girl, curled up into herself, showered in magic, and completely unaware of Seamus and Ron at her sides.

Harry crossed the room and went to touch her shoulder, only to feel the magic stop him. A wall between them. He sent a cautious spell at it, for it to be completely absorbed, with no signs of any damage.

“We’re never going to get through those spells,” he admitted. “She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

Even saying it, Harry tried pushing at the doorway Maeve had in his mind, but when he opened it, found nothing but blackness. He couldn’t force his way in, make her open up from in her mind – there were never good odds of it working in the first place. But the blackness was unsettling, some he could only associate with how it had felt to see through Voldemort’s mind, and it made him shiver to see the same inside his friend.

No one can beat Maeve at Legilimency, not when the magic for it is ingrained in her very being. But that doesn’t mean her mind won’t give in to darkness.

Harry barely slept, tossing and turning with nightmares, though not from Voldemort. No, the object of his anxious mind was Maeve, Maeve, Maeve. He ran through endless possibilities all night, each worse than the previous. When morning eventually came, he went down to the common room, sighing when he found Maeve not to have moved, but to have gained a Cassia sitting in her lap, the younger Walters’ hand on Maeve’s face. He knew what that meant – Cassia was showing her big sister something, and he could only hope that it would be something to snap her out of this.

The shields around them began falling down around them, and when Cassia’s hand slipped away from her sister’s face, Maeve’s face was streaked with tears.

“Cassia, why don’t you go upstairs and see Hermione?” Harry suggested carefully, and Cassia disappeared off, happy that she had done her work. The Chosen One sat down next to the Walters and she broke down completely, her composure lost as she cried. Harry hugged her close, and she practically curled herself into him, making her body seem so much smaller than it actually was, and Harry was at a loss for words, other than murmuring wordless comfort.

“Maevey, talk to me,” Harry tried to persuade, but she simply acted as if she hadn’t heard him, just craving the comfort of being close to another person until she could put herself back together.

As fragile as that self might be.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave your kudos if you haven't already!
> 
> -Caity B xx


	41. Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: none
> 
> Next chapter posts on Thursday 4th February 2021
> 
> Enjoy the chapter; I played around with a different style of writing and would love your comments on it!

*

Dear Remus,

Firstly, this letter is charmed to only be visible in its true contents to you – otherwise, it’s a very dull letter from an ex-student asking for career advice! You gave me the ideas for this, with that map of yours, so I’ll have no comments about me using more power than I’m supposed to.

Secondly, I did actually want to ask your advice, as an ex-professor. Recently, I’ve started tutoring the younger years and I guess I’m struggling with how to help some of them. Specifically the first- and second-years; I’ve never had a problem with the magic I’m trying to teach them, and there are only so many ways I can explain the same thing. Any tips you have would be more than welcome, and if you can spare any time, could you go to the Manor and have a look in the library for me? There is bound to be something there, but I don’t know how intense the Walters warding will be, and if you can’t find anything, then there is probably magic older than Dumbledore hiding it.

I really don’t know how you do it sometimes. I assume working for the Order is something I could fall into easily enough, but for the both of us, the odds in the real world, if you like, are stacked against us the moment the secrets come out of the bag. My secret is still safely hidden, and yet I feel one wrong move is imminent, and enough to get me kicked out of school by parental anger alone, no matter what Dumbledore says. Or even if he would say anything – as far as I know, my Great-Grandfather and Dumbledore were at odds constantly, and I find it difficult to imagine that he could let that go so easily. Especially considering what my family has done in the past – so directly against everything Dumbledore believes in and strives for.

Anyway, I digress. I think what I’m trying to say is I am in awe.

All the way back in third year, I debated all the time whether or not I should tell you who I was. Especially that day when Harry and I found you packing to leave. The reason I didn’t was that I wasn’t convinced you wanted a reminder about the friend who abandoned you after Hogwarts. And I couldn’t really bring myself to try and explain that to you when I could see all the emotion running through your head, so I’m taking the easy option and writing it down. I wish I could have been brave enough to tell you then, but I wasn’t – my life as a Walters, using that name, has brought not a lot of good, and at the time, I was convinced I could forget that life and live as Maeve Ellis for the rest of my life. And then I met Cassia, and that whole plan went to shit.

I dropped my Arithmancy NEWT – everything I need to do remotely for the Order, plus this little study group for the younger years, has finally tipped the balance on what I can sanely deal with each week. So now I’m taking a mere seven subjects – how perfectly boring! I decided that teaching the younger students to defend themselves was more important than magical equations.

It was hilarious as Snape realised I’d taken up teaching them Potions – we did Wiggenweld Potion, and all the students I had taught managed to brew it perfectly during class. He found it was me using Legilimency on the kids, which is unfair, but has made for some very entertaining Potions classes for me. And a pissed-off Snape. Perfect. Whenever I next see you, I’ll share the memory with you.

Remus, I want to be able to talk to you properly. Without any intentional pressure, I’ve wanted a “parental” adult figure in my life for so long that now that I do, I’m feeling the separation more than I thought I would. But, it’s completely up to you – this is new to both of us, and I’m not trying to freak you out, or push past any limits. Just let me know, and I’m not going to be offended either way. Just on this point, the only person I have told about this is my Aunt Hannah, but otherwise I have kept the secret as we discussed. Hannah can’t do any harm knowing, and she’s the other living Walters, though she is a squib (it’s likely you didn’t know, trade Walters secret and all that crap) and that’s why she doesn’t have custody of Cassia. 

Speaking of pushing limits, this might be past a boundary or two, but how’s you and Tonks? I’ve done my absolute best not to read her mind during class, and for the vast majority, I’ve succeeded, but I still am curious. I’d love to hear that you’re happy, Remus. After all this time, you deserve it, and don’t let anyone tell you different.

I’m not sure if this is weird or not, but I’ve tried to write this a whole load of times already, and each time I’ve vanished the words. I need your advice, on how to keep to my limits as a student, rather than as a member of the Order. There was an incident at school, all hushed up as far as any professors finding out goes, but I interfered as more than just a student, with more power than I probably should have used. I’m in no danger of discovery, at least not from that incident (I’ll explain in a bit) and my alibi will hold solid, but I am starting to lose the line I’m not supposed to cross.

There’s no irreparable damage, not to any of them, but I can’t say I made it the most pain-free experience for them. In my mind, they deserved it for cornering first-years and threatening to attack them, but I’m not sure if that’s a Walters instinct, and therefore morally questionable, or if I was right.

So. The danger. Right. Draco has taken a rather rapid turn in his opinion of me, and is threatening to expose me as a Legilimens and Walters to I think the whole school. I don’t think he would go through with it, but he’s been unpredictable of late. My first instinct is to remove it all from his mind, but there’s too much, it would leave too many gaps, and he would figure something out eventually. Plus, that’s a morally grey Walters instinct that I don’t want to listen to. If anything happens, Cassia and I will go to Walters Manor (the wards won’t let Draco in anymore, I fixed that already) and I will write to you from there. I hope it doesn’t happen, but I’m preparing myself for that eventuality.

So, after all that rambling, if you haven’t made it to the end I won’t be offended, but thank you, Remus, if you did. I have also enclosed the spell and incantations you would need to replicate the spell on this parchment, just in case you want to reply.

Love,

Maeve A Walters xx

*

Dear Fred and George,

I promised I would check in, didn’t I? Neither of you believed me, but here I am, writing to you. Of course, on spelled parchment – this is just a letter about the rent on your place on Diagon Alley, don’t you know? It will only respond to either of your touches; no one else can read this. If you want to write back, please use the spell/incantations I’ve enclosed so the paper will do the same thing, and you write to me about the tedium of a Transfiguration NEWT that you remember so well. 

I’m doing well, keeping my head above water with all my subjects, Quidditch (the next Gryffindor match is the final weekend of March, will you be there?), duelling with Snape, helping manage the DA, teaching the first-third years, extra projects for some of my subjects, Cassia’s Legilimency training, researching how we can win this war. Just a few things.

Before you even say it, yes, I know that’s a lot of things for one person to be doing. And whilst I am only one person, I’m also a Walters, and keeping busy is in my blood. On the plus side, I dropped a subject, so I’m taking seven NEWTs instead of eight. Hermione’s still taking nine, and she thinks I’m the crazy one.

I will concede that she probably has a point.

Anyway, there was an additional point to this letter. I am under pressure, self-imposed but still pressure nonetheless, to find a way my particular skillset can be harnessed in this war. I want to help, in the way my mother didn’t the first time Voldemort came to power. I need this, as much for the Walters name as for my own sanity. I wanted to ask a favour and feel free to tell me to bugger off, but I just need to check on something. Inside this letter, I’ve magically enclosed the key to the Walters family vault at Gringotts. By no means do you have to do this, but there is something I believe should be in there, since it’s not at the Manor. 

It could be a little dangerous since I’ve been reliably informed about more than one cursed object, but what I’m looking for isn’t cursed. There’s an emerald jewellery box that’s emblazoned with a Slytherin shield as the lock. Blame my Great Aunt Esmerelda. The box has an undetectable extension charm on it, and might be heavy, so I’d recommend levitating it out of the vault if you go. I would go myself, but I can’t officially apparate, and I’d rather not break too many wizarding laws this soon into my adulthood.

Do you have a fireplace in your shop? If so, can we arrange for me to collect it one evening? Don’t worry about me getting out of Hogwarts, that shouldn’t be the difficult bit. The difficult bit will be once I have the box, and trying to get into it.

I realise I’m being vague, but the accounts I have are only vague, and I believe the contents of that box is my best hope at finding a new way to utilise my Legilimency in a capacity suited for a battle. It’s important for me that I at least try.

On the bright side, and something I’m sure you can have fun with, Ron’s finally beginning to admit to himself his crush on Hermione. Not openly, of course, but there are a bunch of little tells in his aura that I can recognise. Who knows, maybe Hermione will be a part of your real family soon enough?

Cassia misses you both – she’s really taken to you over Christmas, and she would love to see you. Maybe our next Hogsmede visit if you aren’t busy? I’m not sure when it is off the top of my head, but I’ll let you know, if you want to come, of course. No pressure.

I’d love to hear how you are doing – how’s business? Give my love to your mother, and tell her she worked wonders on Cassia’s table manners.

Love,

Maeve A Walters xx

p.s. as a slight sidenote, if the goblins ask for your wands, don't hesitate - everything has been cleared for your access to the Walters vault. 

*

Dear Aunt Hannah,

I’m sorry I haven’t written for so long – how are you doing? School’s good, all my classes are intense but still interesting. Cassia misses you.

There is a war brewing in the wizarding world. If something happens, and I’m exposed, then I fear you may end up in danger, and Cassia too. Hogwarts could become a battleground, and she might not be safe on site. In this eventuality, I wish for you to look after her, and for the both of you to reside in Walters Manor. When I was there over Christmas (long story, I’ll explain briefly in a minute), I adjusted the wards that don’t admit muggles. I would ask you to trust the wizard I send to you, for he is in a position of trust, however, because of the magical aspect of this, please ask him a question about his relationship to me. He is Mother’s choice of a Godfather for me and has chosen to accept this role.

I was at the Manor, mostly for research of how I can help as a Walters to win this war. And I think I am finally onto something that I won’t bore you with the details of. However, whatever I do in this scenario will expose me as a Walters, and I wanted to give you an advanced warning about this, in case it comes back to you in a negative way. Nothing you say will change my mind – what I have to do is what I have to do, and no one will convince me otherwise. But I have to be able to ensure Cassia’s safety.

Please burn this letter once you’ve read it – security, you understand. I hope to see you over the summer but I don’t want to put you at risk. If you want to write back, address it to the Weasleys at the Ottery St Catchpole post office, and they will send it my way.

Your loving niece,

Maeve Ellis x

*

Dear Maeve,

Checking in is much appreciated – but could you perhaps do it a touch more regularly? It's been nearly a month since Christmas and with the state of the world right now, we have been worried. Don't you worry, we followed your instructions to the letter - this letter is spelled exactly how you asked it to be. We hope you enjoy the ins and outs of our business plan to expand Hogsmede.

We would love to be at the match but depends if we can get through the wards again; Dumbledore tightening security all the time. You are doing more NEWTs than either of us got in the end, combined. Yes, you are crazy.

As for the other task you included, it's done. If that is only part of your family fortune, we would not dare to ask how much you think Walter's name is worth. But we found the box and can't open it, but we're sure that you have something up your sleeve for that problem. The emerald on this jewellery box is probably worth more than the Burrow.

We think it has a weightless charm on it, and a strong one at that. It should be much heavier than this for the physical box alone, let alone what's inside. Whatever is inside.

Not that we're at all curious. Never…

Maeve, using your Legilimency in this war is going to expose you; we think you know this but whatever you're planning, please be careful. Think of Cassia and how becoming a Walters is going to impact her. We’re sure you've done this already, however, we are worried that maybe you're being brash to try and prove that the Walters can be useful. We know the reputation from the first war – the Walters did nothing then, but that doesn't mean you need to make up for it now.

Your family's mistakes are not your mistakes. Just remember that.

Any plans you may be forming, please share. We can probably help. So could any of the Order – try running something past Tonks or Lupin, please? Enough with the secrets Maeve.

Yes, we have a fireplace. I don't know how you're planning on getting out of Hogwarts, but be careful. Remember things are being traced these days.

If ickle Ronnie-kins has a girlfriend, you know we will take the mick out of him for it. It is the highlight of our family gatherings. As for the "real family" aspect, you are real family and so is Hermione and so is Harry and so is Cassia. Legally binding yourself to one of us the marriage doesn't change.

Hogsmede should be easy enough for us to get to without suspicion – we are opening a shop there, or at least we are thinking about it. We don't want to dethrone Zonko’s and we haven’t really figured out all the logistics however business is business, and it’s an opportunity we are exploring.

Mum has said if things get worse at Hogwarts, Cassia is always welcome with them. No pressure, but just think about it. You’re both family now, and family look out for each other. Don’t do any of that ditching out on us crap, okay?

With our love,

Fred and George

xx

*

Dear Maeve,

I’m glad to hear from you – I have news for you too. I hope this letter finds you well, and I would like you to know I am doing good, much better than in recent years. I have finally found someone to share my life with; he proposed to me two weeks ago and we’re getting married in the summer. He is a muggle, and knows a little of the world we come from; his sister was a witch, a muggleborn. I would love you to be at the wedding, and walk me down the aisle? I know it’s unconventional, but these muggles are much more advanced in their women’s rights than the wizarding community, and Daniel says it would be lovely to meet you. I talk about you and Cassia often enough.

If we have to, then we can relocate out of the country, but Maeve, I can’t hide in that house. I just can’t do it. Cassia can come with us, and we’ll be safe abroad. I promise. Daniel has family in Canada, and we could stay near them. Use the Manor for something else – keep more people safe, more wizards and witches. Let me handle my own safety. Don’t forget who the adult is in this situation. Although I guess at this point you’re considered an adult, right? Happy belated coming of age.

I miss you both too, but I am glad you took Cassia, and have helped her in ways I never could. Thank you, Maeve. Truly.

I love you,

Hannah Ellis

xxx

*

Dear Maeve,

I am sorry my reply was so slow – Dumbledore has me moving around trying to rally the werewolves. And I followed your spells and would love to say it was overkill, but you can never be too careful these days. I am glad to have the map give you inspiration, but this is much more complicated than that was. Secret passcodes are easier to use rather than a single person’s unique touch.

I have to admire the fact that you're trying to teach young students but the simple answer is sometimes they simply don't have the level of magic you need to perform certain spells. You can explain it in a thousand different ways but that doesn't mean they will get it. But, if you would like my advice, it is this: visualisation of magic and repetition is the best way to teach. Depending on how much time you spend with the students will depend on how much practice they get; as a professor, my first move would be to encourage them to spend their own time on the spells, as much as they can spare.

Attached to this letter is the only book I could find on magical teaching, but the house is a maze, so there are possibly rooms that I missed. Also, there were an alarming number of blanks spines in your library, so I'm assuming the paranoid Walters have a lot more secrets on the matter. I'm afraid you have to go yourself and try and find but don't do anything stupid and risk leaving Hogwarts now. Wait until the summer.

As much as I don't want to admit it, if you had told me who you were back in third year, I am not sure how I would have reacted. I was stressed but glad to have a job – I am unsure as to whether I could have coped with the same knowledge I have now. But, Maeve, never have to be afraid to tell me things; I'm here to listen when you need me to.

Seven subjects are more than enough-no one in my year at Hogwarts was crazy enough to do that, not even Lily. I hated Arithmancy too. The Order recognises that you're still in school. Don't put too much pressure on yourself. You can contribute during holidays and no one expects more than that.

Honestly, I have spent 10 minutes staring at this page, trying to come up with the words to reply. I am not trying to replace anyone, least of all Maggie, and with my condition, I am ill-suited to parent anyone. However, that being said, I feel the separation in the same way you do. Maybe if we take in a different context – not a parent, more like a friend, a confidant, an uncle of sorts. I think we just need to trial this between us and see what the dynamic settled as naturally, but I want to try.

I don't know what to say about the secrecy but the first person to find out should be Harry. It is only fair to him – I was Uncle Moony to him before everything happened and though he doesn't remember it, I do. Very clearly. But I'll let you make the decision, test the waters, see what Harry thinks. If he reacts badly, we don't have to tell anyone else.

Tonks is happy, yes, but she deserves much better. No one else told me that I know it's true. Why choose a werewolf with 15 years on her, with no life to speak of? And then of course anything long-term can't include children. She shouldn’t want to be settled with me when someone else can give us much more.

Is this referring to a certain a few incidents with our favourite potions Professor? Just keep your temper and who have no reason to put you in detention again. Wait for those training sessions where you can just curse him instead.

Of course, I didn't just tell you to curse some. That would be wrong.

Walters morality was always something your mother struggled with and there is no definitive answer to your question. In a situation like we're in, extreme measures sometimes the only way to go. Can we deal with the consequences of that after the war. We do what we have to do to survive, Maeve. That's all anyone can do.

If you are at the Manor, I will be there. If something happens then I'm sure I will hear about it, but please tell me first. And don't vanish again, please.

Give my love to Cassia, and the rest of the gang.

Love,

Remus x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Caity B xx


	42. Outburst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: self-harm (detailed)! Please read at your own discretion
> 
> The next chapter will be published on Sunday 7th of February 2021

Cassia wakes me in the morning, and I briefly consider skiving off class, but Magical Creatures is one of my favourite classes, so I force myself to stick it out. With Cassia full of energy, I dress her quickly and take her outside, promising to teach her the basics of flying whilst it is still early.

Keeping an arm firmly around my sister, I take off on my Nimbus urging it to be gentle, flying low to the ground to get her used to the sensation, so low that if I stretch out, my toes skim the grass. Cassia squeals in delight and I pull us a little higher, nothing too drastic, but her pure, childish innocent joy warms every fibre of my being in the early-morning chill. There is no trace of the terror she’s been associating with flying since late September and the bludger incident with the second years. For that I am thankful.

Time passes quickly and as the sun climbs higher, I hear six distinct voices emerge from somewhere nearer the castle.

Cassia's on her own broom, her Christmas present from me, flying low to the ground, and its magic is entirely under my control, and with simple flicks of my wand, she's skimming around is all different directions, screaming with glee. My own broom is discarded on the ground beside me. I know I’ve got practice soon, and sitting on a broom for too long leaves you with a sore arse. A situation I would like to avoid if I have to sit through afternoon Transfiguration class.

I’m not entirely in the mood for Quidditch, which is weird for me. Usually, the euphoria associated with flying brings me out of any bad mood, and I can take my anger out on how hard I whack the bludgers. Not today though. Maybe I just didn't sleep well, or maybe it's something more than that, but I just feel … shit. It is the only way I can think of to describe it, the absolute extent of my eloquence. With all the aftermath of arguments and fighting, I am exhausted in a way just sleeping for longer doesn’t appear to help.

"Natural flyer," Harry commented, and I jumped.

"Bloody hell, Harry!" I swipe out at him, but he slid back out of arm's reach. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

He shook his head, rather merrily for someone out at 7 am on a Tuesday, when he doesn't have class this morning. He could easily be having a lie-in, like I know Ron wishes he could be doing, but instead he had taken this Quidditch practice slot. I turn, flicking my wand so Cassia lands smoothly, Ginny helping her out and showing her her broom.

"I'm just going to say this now," Harry started, and I felt the panic begin to rise as I catch sight of the anxiety riddled in his aura. This isn't good. "Will you meet me in the Room of Requirement later? After dinner?" So, it’s bad enough that we can't talk about it here. Or now. Right then.

Trying to rationalise the meeting only leads me to want to use my Legilimency more and more, and Harry raises an eyebrow at me when I don’t respond. I clamp down on the Legilimency urges, and force a smile.

I nod, consenting to this somewhat-clandestine meeting, and call Cassia over, summoning some of her toys whilst the rest of the Gryffindor team and I squeeze a practice in before breakfast. I’m not up to my usual form, but Madam Hooch refused us a bludger this morning for reasons she refused to comment on, so it’s not like my lack of focus is putting my team-mates in danger. I conjure bubbles on the castle lawn as we start heading back inside, and it crosses my mind that it had been nearly two and a half weeks since my argument with Draco. There had been nothing more between us, no conversations, no insult thrown, just silence. Unsettling silence.

I’ve monitored him from a distance, of course. The Legilimency connection we formed for so long allows me to easily keep track of his mind from my own rooms when he’s in the Slytherin dungeon; easy enough for me to consider it background magic. I haven’t found a need to interfere with his mind yet. Though, I am preparing myself for the eventuality when I will have to make a call on whether or not to break the promise I made to him, and to myself.

Determined not to overthink it, I watch happily as Cassia chases the bubbles, staring in wonder as they catch the light and change colour.

If he’s planning something dramatic with the reveal of my family name, I’d rather him get it over with. I can’t take the suspense, the waiting. Despite everything, I still believe he doesn’t want the Mark, he doesn’t want to be a Death Eater like his father. Although, to what lengths he will go to protect his family, and his reputation, I don’t know. And I’d rather not test it with Cassia’s life in the balance. And the mental toll of spending every night watching and observing from a distance is beginning to catch up with me, though I know I can keep it up if I need to. I _will_ keep it up, for as long as is necessary for Cassia’s safety.

The castle bell tolls indicating breakfast, and we slowly leave the changing rooms, Cassia skipping all the way down the hall corridors. In the Great Hall, she bounds into my lap, excitedly grabbing at the apple juice that appeared especially for her.

Hermione joined us shortly, Arithmancy textbook in hand, and turned straight to the book, somewhat subdued and vehemently ignoring the food in front of her, only sipping from her drink. She didn’t come to me this morning for the Nutrition Potion, and I’m hoping we’re not back into a slump of not eating. At least she’s actually come to breakfast this morning, when she also has a free period. Her only free on her timetable, as well. Though Hermione has never been one for lie-ins. 

"'Mione, you okay?" She studiously ignored me, and I dropped it, glad for the rowdy burst of chatter that accompanied the rest of the Quidditch team on their entry. Harry watched me carefully, still managing to be the centre of attention as they loudly talked about how amazing their team was this year.

I grab a vial of the potion out of my bag, casting a strong, wandless Notice-Me-Not charm on it as I stand the vial by Hermione’s glass. Then I nudged her mind to see past the spells, and when she saw the bottle, she picked it up and vanished it. I widen my eyes at her incredulously, and she turns nonchalantly back to her book. The anger in her aura is a little overwhelming, but solely for the fact that it is so out of the ordinary. Hermione gets irritated, sure, like the rest of us. But never this … this consumed with rage.

Ron gave me a very non-subtle look between Hermione and me, and I just shrugged. With a glance at the Slytherin table, I spot the familiar blonde, and I quickly look away. I need to remind myself why I’m doing this – if it were just my own life in the balance, I’d love to be revealed as a Walters, be finally able to use my power without questions and limits. It would be a risk, of course, but I would be more of an asset to the Order than ever. It’s not that simple though, not anymore, not now that I have a helpless seven-year-old in my care. Draco always convinced me he cared for Cassia – and now he’s willing to get her hurt? I’d stop him before that happens, by whatever means necessary.

Although, judging by recent events, I’m more likely to be attacked than him.

Appetite lost entirely, I continue to make sure Cassia's eating, and when she's done, she doesn't want to leave, instead listens into the Quidditch talk. I try and tune into the speculations on the upcoming match, and the current points, but I can’t focus enough. Ron breaks out of the conversation from beside me and asks quietly what's going on. If Ron has become the perceptive one amid a chattering table about Quidditch, the whole world's going to shit.

"'Mione's acting weird; don't know what I've done wrong," I sigh, rubbing my temples. Recognising the shimmer of silencing spells, I don't see the point in lowering my voice.

"Potions Lab Two, tonight at 8 pm," Snape snarls from behind me, pointing to the four Gryffindor Potions students. Harry reaches through Hermione's spell, and shakes her shoulder, and she brings the charm down when she sees Snape.

"Can't have any more Gryffindor accidents in my NEWT class - don't be late." His warning was crystal clear, as was his meaning - we wouldn't be brewing potions tonight. More like trying to hex each other. Ginny shot me a worried look, and I shrugged it off with a playful roll of my eyes, letting her know it is just Snape being Snape.

"'Mione, you alright?" Ron asked before she could put her charm back up. She opened her book back up, ignoring him, and as is typical, he took that somewhat personally. "Merlin, 'Mione, only asking. It's not like we're friends or anything, and I care about you. Oh wait, that's exactly bloody it."

Hermione looked directly at him, expression unreadable. I put a hand warningly on Ron's arm, but he shook it off, expression thunderous. Oh, it’s one of these mornings where they find new things to fight over. Yay. This is exactly what I need.

"It's fine, Maeve, she probably just got told she wasn't top of the class for one of her essays," Ron exclaimed loudly, and deliberately, garnering the attention of everyone close by, some of the other house tables included. And, unfortunately for Ron, he'd hit right on the money, as Hermione's eyes transformed through upset to visible rage. They flicked hesitantly to me, and the knut dropped as I realised exactly which essay it had been. I didn’t need the Legilimency to tell me what was going on.

Ron, too oblivious to the fairly subtle signals Hermione was sending, turned to criticise Hermione, heavy on the sarcasm. "She used to be like this all the time, I thought it was a phase she'd gotten over, but apparently not ... "

Neville, sitting on Ron's other side, elbowed him harshly, picking up on the tension building between Hermione and me, as she glared at me. I refused to look in her direction, playing with Cassia's hair.

To Harry's credit, he tried to change the topic back to Quidditch, but the attempt was fruitless, and everyone's eyes were between Hermione and me. Harry wasn’t used to being ignored, especially where Quidditch talk was concerned, but that was all-the-more worrying of what was about to play out. Foreshadowing at its best.

"You did it on purpose," Hermione said darkly, and I gave her a disbelieving look. What the hell did I do on purpose this time? Attempting not to rise to Hermione's bad mood, I try and play it off with some humour. 

"Oh, yeah, you caught me - I finally listened to all that advice you gave me. I purposefully did well at something academic," I roll my eyes. "Send me to Azkaban." 

Ron smirked next to me, for once enjoying Hermione attacking someone else. Hermione's anger didn't waver, and I tried my best to fight the influence of all the emotions around me. The silent egging on of a fight, to make the Tuesday morning more interesting was not the emotional atmosphere I needed to be around now. I did my best to block it, but my own anger left patches unprotected and cracks in my shield from the emotional onslaught I faced.

"You knew that essay meant a lot to me; you lied when you said you hadn't done that well in it," she accused, and I shrugged. What am I supposed to say to that? This only seems to spur on her anger, which still seems unfounded to me, and overhead, the ceiling had thunderclouds rolling over it. Ominous much. This is every muggle cliché of wizards out there – if only they could see us now. "Of course, I don't know why I'm surprised. You don't tell us the truth much. You don’t tell any of us the truth."

"Hermione!" Harry looked flabbergasted, and I mentally told him to stand down, which he didn't fight, and he slouched in his seat. Even the Chosen One sometimes knows when it's not his fight.

"What essay are you on about?" I ask, but she just stares into me with unflinching determination. I know exactly which essay she means, but I want to try and diffuse her anger before we create even more of a scene than we already are. Ron and Hermione argue, for sure, but Hermione and me? Never, at least not this publicly. And not about something as _stupid_ as who came top of the class. It’s always been Hermione. No question.

The one time it’s not, and she gets pissy? This is insanity.

"Why don't you tell us all, Maeve, what you've been hiding all this time?" Hermione goaded, and I feel Draco's gaze snap to me across the hall. Maybe after all he won’t be the one to do it. Manoeuvring Cassia out of my lap, I stand, resisting the urge to hex her across the table. I want to hex her. I really do. I refuse to put my wand in my hand, knowing if I do then I will lose the little self-control I have left. Not that I even need my wand to hex her. And she’s perfectly aware of that, but if I hex her without even using a wand, I’m exposing myself exactly as she wants me to. I’m in a lose-lose situation.

The whole hall is silent as they wait for what will happen next, even at the High Table, no one seeks to intervene. McGonagall stands, but doesn’t move from the dais. I see the word, the name, _Walters,_ practically hanging off her lips, and I embolden my nerves with a steely covering of anger. Panic is bypassed completely, because I would silence her before I let her hurt Cassia’s life like that, and there’s a small part of me that doesn’t believe Hermione would endanger me like this. But I’m not taking a single chance, not where Cassia’s safety is concerned. Narcissa Malfoy may know, and I have already deemed that the limit for what my nerves can handle. No way am I adding everyone at breakfast to that list.

Something holds me back from tampering with her mind – I haven’t done anything wrong yet, and I’d like to stay in the right, for once. Not that Hermione would know if I messed with her mind, or her memories. But she might figure something out eventually.

"Fucking with me is a dangerous game, Granger; are you sure you want to start that? You know you won’t win," I snarl lowly, stalking out of the hall without so much as waiting for her reaction, Cassia in tow.

I drop Cassia down in our room, making an effort to seem normal, to block out all the emotions that are radiating out of me. Cassia gives me a worried hug but calms down when I present her with a little box of Chocolate Frogs, courtesy of the One-Eyed Witch passageway after I forgot to restock on the last organised trip to Hogsmede.

Once I'm happy she's settled for a few hours, I head out, making a beeline for the Room of Requirement, asking it patiently as I pace in front of the opening, three times. I need somewhere to take out my anger without being able to hurt anyone else. The room obliges, and I feel its reluctance to seal off the door once I'm inside, but in the name of not letting anyone else get hurt, it stays true to its word. In previous attempts at this same thing, I’ve told the Room to let my friends in if they appear, but I’m taking no chances of that this time. None at all.

Inside is almost identical to the Gryffindor dorms I stayed in, all the way up to fifth year. I smirk at the room's cunning, and I run the conversation with Hermione through my head again. And again. And again.

_You don't tell us the truth much._

_What have you been hiding all this time?_

_You lied._

_You lied!_

_YOU LIED!_

In a burst of magic I didn't mean to let out, wooden bed-frames splinter and begin to collapse, the mirror Lavender always kept on her dressing table shatter, sending shards of glass flying. I go to the one that would have been Hermione's bed, and set the pillows alight, finding it not explosive enough for my current temper.

Magic boiled in my veins, power pulsating through me, only fuelled further by my anger. I eye the shards of the mirror, impulsively grabbing one tightly in my fist. The room around me seemed to groan against my actions, but I ignored it as blood trickled from my squeezed palm.

 _You're a witch, remember,_ my subconscious reminded me, and I muttered a quick _reparo_ on the mirror, transfiguring it so it was a full-length one. Imbuing it with a magical mirroring charm, the same one I used on Harry for that duel, I sent a cautionary hex at it, ducking as it bounced back exactly where it was fired from.

In a rash burst, I recall the spell I need, wordlessly casting it, and watching as the Cutting Curse rebounds off the mirror, slicing into my arm. It stings, and I relish the feeling, an actual feeling that isn't anger, and fire it again, and again, and again, vanishing the blood as I go, casting _episky_ to close up the deeper of the wounds, just so I can open them again, and feel something. _Anything._

I need to feel; this numbness needs to go. 

Since my outbursts at Christmas, I’ve internalised everything again, and I fell too easily back into stamping down my emotions rather than talking about them, in the way I promise Fred and George I would. I cast the Weasleys out of my mind, cast everything out of my mind, and take in the pain coursing through my body.

Thinking about my makeshift family is the wrong kind of pain. I need physical pain, not an emotional guilt-trip. They do not tend to wear down at the anger in the same way, in the way I crave in this moment.

Blood leaks from the cuts, staining my uniform, and the curse slashes at my clothes, ripping into my skin through the material. There is a determination in me not to allow myself to die - for Cassia. It is always for Cassia. She cannot lose anyone else. She cannot be the last Walters. I spent six years thinking I was the last one, and it was far too much. Though Cassia has one less hurdle than I did, it is not a position I intend to put her in, least of all whilst the world is in this dreadful state.

Everything is for Cassia. Always.

I'm not sure when I did it, or how it got this out of hand, but I scream _crucio_ at the mirror. The pain wracks through my whole body, and I savour the shuddering pain it sends through me. Finally, something real. Something I can feel. Something that tears up my clothes less, but gives me the same rush of feeling, of pain, that I need.

I haven’t felt anything in these two weeks of silence from Draco, in the two weeks since I attacked the Slytherins. And in that time, I’ve been lost. The Slytherins got what they deserved, for attacking the first-years, but all the lies I wove into their minds to cover my tracks just proves Hermione’s point. I’m a Walters, fabrication and mental manipulation is my second nature, and I’ve found myself slipping into that emotionless bubble more and more recently.

But now, that emotion-blocking dam has broken, and everything threatens to pour out as I cast Unforgiveable after Unforgiveable, the mirror charm holding strong, too strong for what I intended it to do. Sometimes my own power is as much a mystery to me as it is a threat.

_Crucio!_

_You lied!_

_Crucio!_

_Walters, Walters, Walters!_

_Crucio!_

_You should leave!_

_Crucio!_

_A Legilimens in Hogwarts that no one knows about is dangerous!_

_Crucio!_

_You don't tell us the truth much!_

_CRUCIO!_

As the doors to the Room open, and I'm hit with the curse again, doing my best not to crumble completely to the floor. I know they are there, and I ignore them, casting the spell again, knowing the shielding around me would take a while to break through. My sense of time is warped, but I cast the spell again wordlessly, before my wand has been summoned, and I accidentally continue, another _crucio_ appearing from nowhere, apparently a wandless, wordless cast. Those who approached me scream slightly, ducking away at the curse hits me full-force in the chest, and pain shoots through me, electrifying all my senses. 

Two sets of hands are steadying me before I can do it again, though I don't know whose, and I black out from that last, immensely powerful _crucio_ , shivers convulsing through my body.

My final coherent thought is that the Cruciatus curse is less messy than the Cutting curse.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Caity B xx


	43. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Same as the last chapter - big warnings for self-harm! 
> 
> Next chapter publishing on 11th February 2021!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter

Opening my eyes in the hospital wing, Cassia's crawled into bed next to me, careful not to touch me, probably under Madam Pomphrey's instruction.

Bugger this.

It's dark outside, and I try and shift slightly, wincing at the pain rushes through my body. Trying to ignore it, and not jostle Cassia, I push myself into a more upright position. I hate being in the hospital wing – I almost want to get up and leave now.

"You had better not be getting out of bed!" Pomphrey's stern voice called, and I slumped back against the pillows, realising my reputation had to be torn to shreds, and most annoyingly of all, I couldn’t do anything about it. Both with whoever it was who found me, and anyone who has caught wind of a rumour. Oh, and with all the professors too, I’m sure. There had been a lot of people that burst into the Room, but I didn’t clock who it was, and I can’t even begin to guess how many people there were. I was too far gone at that point for coherency.

Madam Pomphrey bustled over a minute later, performing a few spells, and forcing me to drink a couple of potions despite my feeble protests. There is a small blue vial on the bedside table, and I eye it sceptically. That doesn’t look like one of the typical hospital wing potions. It gives me a suspicious feeling, and the magical aura around it isn’t something I can trust.

"Professor Snape brought it for you from his personal stores, said it helps with the specific pain moreso than the standard healing draughts," she answered, and I tore my gaze away from it. If it was Snape who brought it, I'm not drinking it. I don't care if it helps. There's a knock on the door, and I only just clock that I'm not in the main hospital wing, but a smaller, single room.

That bad, huh?

I must look a right terror.

"Miss Ellis, how are you feeling?" Professor McGonagall asks me, and I refuse to meet her eyes as I come up with a response. My brain is working much slower than usual – probably the concoction of healing draughts and potions I just drank. It doesn’t click with me as the reversal into my muggleborn name from McGonagall as we’re back at Hogwarts, but it’s something I should have expected.

"I'm fine, when can I get out of here?" I ask, and McGonagall shakes her head, not giving a real answer. She takes the seat by my bed, and I run my hands idly through Cassia's hair.

"Perhaps you'd rather have this conversation without her?" McGonagall suggested gently, and I refused instantly. Cassia can't go anywhere now; she's the only thing grounding me. And, she’s asleep. I’d rather not wake her.

"If you're expelling me, just say, and I'll leave tonight," I say bluntly, and her eyes widen. It’s not unreasonable; I’m of age now, and even without NEWT qualifications, I should be able to get a job somewhere in the wizarding world. Not that it’s exactly the future I was planning.

"Good gracious, Maeve, no, no one's being expelled. Professor Kettleburn reported your absence from class this morning, and, well, the whole hall heard your argument with Miss Granger this morning. A number of students, Mr Thomas and Miss Abbott mostly, were concerned when you didn't show up to your favourite class," McGonagall explained, and I'm appreciating the details more than I thought I would.

If I know what people are thinking, I can make a better plan for how I’m going to get past this. Not that there is going to be an easy way out of this whole mess of a situation. I half want to take on the Legilimency challenge of removing the incident from everyone's memories but even my hazy brain can tell that would be insanity to attempt. 

"Mr Potter and Mr Weasley came to me at lunch and reported that they couldn't find you, and we broke through the wards to your room, found your sister there alone, and had to inform the professors of the situation." Great, now all the teachers think I'm unstable; also, they broke the wards – I clearly still have things to learn about that. "It was Mr Potter who suggested the Room of Requirement, but the entrance kept moving, presumably under your instruction?" she questioned, and I nodded jerkily.

She had a sympathetic expression on her face. "Unfortunately, since I had to cancel my sixth-year transfiguration class on the grounds of a student’s welfare, there are many rumours spreading about the castle, most of them utter nonsense, of course. But some of your year-mates have put two and two together," she added, and I sunk further into the pillows.

"When did you enter the room, Miss Ellis?"

I pause, looking away. "Before class this morning," I mumble, and she gives an audible gasp.

"Miss Ellis, we found you shortly after two pm this afternoon," she breaks to me, and I try and resist the shiver that runs through my body. I fail, drastically, waking Cassia up and alerting McGonagall that something is wrong. Cassia climbs carefully closer to me, watching my face closely for a reaction, and I just pull her in, her snuggling into my chest.

McGonagall's eyes zero in on the blue vial, and I shake my head before she's even had time to ask the question.

"Dumbledore was alerted when dark magic was detected on-site, the first Unforgivable we knew of was just before one o'clock. This potion-" she gestures to the tiny vial "- I assume Severus brought it." I nod, not liking where this is going. "If Poppy left it here, it will help you." I shake my head again, feeling somewhat woozy already from the cocktail of healing potions I've already been given.

The first thing that really gets through into my head is that I was under Unforgivables for over an hour, maybe closer to an hour and a half, all entirely self-inflicted.

"don't trust 'im," I say, my body slumping and sentences failing as the healing potions finally kick in. Honestly, it’s embarrassing I can’t pronounce half my words. "could make it worse, jus' need sleep, wanna see m' friends, tell 'em 'm sorry, they deserve betta." My words are slurring together as McGonagall reaches out and touches my hand in a motherly way.

"'Mione's right, i lied ter 'em, made it all worse," I sniff, letting my eyes slip closed, the weight of my guilt too high to bother fighting it.

***

"Do you reckon she'll be okay?"

"I can't believe it was a _defence essay_ that set this all off, that's crazy."

"You idiots lay off, you'll wake her up!"

Blearily I open an eye, surveying the room around me. There's still no light streaming through the windows; did I really sleep through the whole night and day? Harry is sat with Cassia on his lap where McGonagall was last night, my sister curled up happily enough and demanding attention to the drawings she'd created. Luna and Ginny were at the end of my bed; Ron's on my other side, the blue vial between his fingers. No Hermione. No Draco.

Somehow, despite my hazy brain, seeing Ginny and Luna here together brings a smile to my face.

"Hey, Maevey," Harry whispered to me, and I tried to sit up, only to have a strong, but gentle hand pushing me back down. Nervously scanning their faces, I don't fight, knowing I've put them all through enough already.

"Where's Hermione?" I ask, and Ron stiffens slightly.

"Library; she didn't think you'd want to see her," Ginny filled in, and Harry shot her a look. She just shrugged, and I smiled appreciatively. At least she's honest. Hesitant to say anything more with Cassia right here, I had sunk further back into the pillows, trying not to wince too visibly.

Ginny clearly caught the look and offered to entertain Cassia for the rest of the evening, to which I smiled gratefully, and Cassia, with an upset look only a seven-year-old can manage, tried to refuse, but at the sight of Luna conjuring flowers for her hair, was persuaded to go with them. The lingering concern in my sister’s mind bothered me, and I did my best to mentally reinforce that she had nothing to be worried about.

"You can't scare us like that, Maevey," Harry said gently, as soon as the girls had left the room. "It took McGonagall, Snape, Tonks _and_ Dumbledore to break through your wards, and then Cassia couldn't reach you, and the Room wouldn't let us in." He's careful to keep his voice steady, but I see his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. Perhaps I don’t have too much to be worried about with my warding skills.

Guilt settles on my chest as I realise how _Walters_ my first thought was, and I feel horrible. Around us, there’s already so much pain, and here I go inflicting it on my best friends. What have I done?

Ron set the vial down on the dresser, taking my hand. I clench my other fist as I shudder, and Ron keeps a firm grip on my hand. "Maeve, I'm not going to lie, Hermione was out of whack, but she's worried sick, like the rest of us."

I can't look at him, I can't know how sincere he's being. I don’t want to know.

“Did- did you tell Remus?” I ask quietly, and Ron shrugs.

“We didn't, but the Order were alerted about the dark magic before we figured out it was you,” Harry informed me. “He had gone to speak with Tonks the last time I saw him.”

I can see the questions burning in their minds, and I’m not sure I can take answering them. Not now.

"Where's my wand?" I ask, diverting the conversation and Harry shifts awkwardly. "McGonagall?" I press, and he nods. Well, she can't keep it if she expects me to go back to class, so mentally I rationalise the punishment, and it's definitely well-deserved.

Another shudder convulsed through me, and in Harry's alarm, he called out for Madam Pomphrey, who took one look at me, and sighed. After trying, and failing, to send Harry and Ron away, and on my insistence, they could hear whatever she was going to say, she explained the shuddering was the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse, and that the blue vial would help stop it, else I'd be here well into next week recovering from such an intense usage of that curse.

"Bloody hell, fine," I snapped at her, unstoppering the vial with shaking hands. Pausing with the potion half-way to my lips, I continued, "If this is Snape's way of poisoning me, it's on you." Downing the vial before Harry or Ron could object, I grimaced at the bitterness of the potion.

The effects of it are near-instant, and I feel myself relax back. Pomphrey adds that the physical wounds are healed, but since it was dark magic, it will most likely scar. As she leaves, the boys stay quiet, probably still processing my self-inflicted Unforgivables.

To inflict an Unforgiveable, you truly have to mean it, in your very soul. And I did it, multiple times, in fact, directed at myself. That’s got to be bad, on many, many levels. Harry couldn’t use an Unforgiveable after Bellatrix killed Sirius, and I managed to use it on myself.

"Will you tell 'Mione it's not her fault?" I ask in a small voice. "Yeah I'm pissed at her, but this-" I gesture to my battered body "-this isn't on her. It's on me." Harry assures me that he would, Ron lightens the mood with a joke about missing Runes this morning, which I smile at.

"What I want to know is what it was about that Defence essay that pissed Hermione off so badly," Ron declared tactlessly, and I snorted a laugh. Harry sent Ron a look, but I shook off his concern about the supposedly sensitive topic.

In my defence for this whole situation, it wasn't like I wrote the essay on the sole intention of besting her. It's an essay, I did my best with it, and that just happened to be better than Hermione's one.

"Do you remember the one Tonks set about the similarities and differences between Pureblood and Muggleborn magical ability?" Nods from the both of them; a somewhat pained expression enters Ron's eyes - he spent the week complaining about the essay and had to rush it the night before. "I was arguing that Purebloods have the natural advantage of growing up surrounded by magic, so things like incantations and wand grip is much more instinctive, and that no matter the education, there are just some things that Purebloods know intuitively, which Muggleborn students can't compete with."

Harry raised an eyebrow, and I nodded. "Ironic, considering everyone thinks of me as Muggleborn, but by that estimation, I know both sides of the coin, so had somewhat of an advantage at the essay, and I think that is what Hermione was getting at when she called me a liar in front of the whole school. She wanted to call me out on being a Pureblood, about being a Walters; I could see it in her eyes, and in her mind. It scared me."

Both boys looked ready to defend me for my choices when the door swings open, and a multitude of people come piling in, and I'm immediately self-conscious as I realise the state of myself, and add to that I don't have a wand, I want to crawl under the covers and hide.

Fred and George join Ron's side of my bed, and I don't even question it as they say Mrs Weasley insisted on their coming as soon as Ron owled them about the situation. McGonagall and Dumbledore are at the end of the bed, quietly discussing something that requires many not-so-covert glances my way. Snape stands awkwardly behind them, half in the conversation but looking entirely like he was forced to be here. He probably was.

No Hermione. No Draco. No Remus, but I didn’t know if he was still at the castle or not.

Fred and George lightened the mood as they noticed Hermione's absence, eagerly filling me in on their most recent inventions for the Weasley Wizard Wheezes shop - a new range of Sickening Sweets and more fireworks than ever. I shot Harry a look when he tried to stop me sitting up, but I rested back against the pillows on his request.

Mentally, I sent Cassia a message, knowing Fred and George would both love to see her, and she excitedly responded, bringing a smile to my face.

"What is this racket going on in here?" the nurse cried out as she stormed into the room, halting at the sight of the three professors. "Headmaster, my apologies, but I must request that Miss Ellis is allowed to rest."

"And she will be, Poppy, no worries, but I must speak with her first," Professor Dumbledore responded, and I cringed at the tone. This can't be good.

"The situation in the Great Hall: did you intend to shatter Miss Granger's glass once you were almost out of the hall?" His question stunned me, and I shook my head slowly. I shattered a glass? I guess at least I can be glad that it was only one, and I didn't accidentally take out a window or two. Or break anything with a larger impact-radius. That would've been harder to explain.

"Naturally, we consider your actions provoked, and you will receive no punishment for the incident. Miss Granger has received three nights' detention for causing the situation-"

"No, don't punish her," I interrupt, and McGonagall stares at me. "'Mione made a mistake, knowing her, she's already hating herself for the whole thing, and overall, there was no lasting damage." To that, I received a number of pointed looks, all reminding me where I was, and what had happened. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Hermione didn’t curse me, I did. That's on me, not her." I stare Dumbledore straight in the eye, resisting the urge to smile at the twinkle in his expression, a small showing of his agreement. I’m sure he has a comment on Gryffindor camaraderie, but I’m not in the mood for it.

Before anyone can say anything further, the doors fly open, and Cassia comes sprinting in, and I see from the glint in her eyes what she's about to do. Without really thinking I cast a Cushioning Charm, and it absorbs the impact of her jumping on me, and comfort returns as she snuggles into my arms. Ginny joins her brothers, hugging Fred and George in turn; Luna is nowhere to be seen.

"Did you just ... wandlessly cast that?" Pomphrey looks mildly faint, and the twinkle in Dumbledore's eye has grown. Everyone else around me already knows I’m capable of as much, but I’ve never given a full explanation of _how_ I can do that. I can see that question burning in everyone’s minds, but I am hardly strong enough to process through that answer right now.

I don't meet anyone's eyes as I tell them I'm not happy talking about it in the present company. The twin's grins dim slightly and I shake my head. "Not you guys, you're basically family," I assure them, and Fred cottons on slightly quicker, eyes darting to Snape.

"I trust Severus with my life, Miss Ellis. You may trust his discretion." Snape looks uncomfortable at his bold statement, a slightly bored expression covering it up. I shake my head stubbornly.

"He's done admirable work for our side over the past two decades, Miss Ellis," McGonagall told me sternly, regaining her usual colour as she addresses me. I feel my insides lurch - admirable work. _Admirable._ Fuck. I talked to the Order about this, even if it wasn’t in that much detail, and McGonagall was there.

“Tell that to Margaret Walters,” I mutter, putting my hands over Cassia’s ears. Snape stiffens at her name, and I don’t have the energy in me to turn this into a fight.

"And you know he's not double-crossing you how exactly?" The question came from Ron, ready to defend me. Or attack Snape - probably both.

"Come on, Ron, we know he works for the Order; we don't have to like him," George reminded his little brother, and Ron's ears went red.

"This isn't about whose side he's on. This is personal and I refuse to share anything resembling a secret with him," I stated as forcefully as I could from a hospital bed, earning a somewhat impressed look from Ginny. Snape stood, expression stony, unmoving. I almost wish I could stop him thinking about my mother, or do something, anything to hurt him the same way he’s hurt me. I wrap my arms tighter around my sister, stroking her hair in hopes she might fall asleep.

The door opens again, and Remus and Tonks enter. The annoyance at Snape’s presence hits me immediately from Remus and I manage a smile at him.

 _He’s here under duress, ignore it_ , I tell Remus, and the werewolf’s eyes scan me critically, trying to guess the extent of the damage.

“Now that we’re all here,” I say conversationally, trying to regain a semblance of control of the situation. “I think I found a way to win.”

Stunned silence followed. “I need a little time before I explain, and access to the library at Walters Manor. Then,” I smile, “we might be in with a shot at winning this war.”

“God, you sound like your mother,” Remus breathed, and I shot a grin at him.

“Forgive me if I don’t take you at your word, Miss Ellis,” Dumbledore pressed gently, and I looked back to him, reading the same hesitation in Snape and McGonagall. “What is the outline of the idea? Perhaps a witch or wizard older than yourself could assist?”

I barely caught the silent speech that darted between the headmaster and Snape, but as I felt a presence at the edges of my mind, I pushed back with my magic, and Snape physically stumbled backwards, catching himself on the opposite wall.

“Don’t try and invade my mind. It won’t work,” I say sweetly enough, and fix my glare. “That’s only a bit of power, a mere fraction. I don’t believe you would like to see the rest of it.”

Everyone stared between Snape and myself, the girl lying injured in the hospital bed, wandless and yet perhaps more powerful than most.

“Maeve,” Remus saying in a warning, and I slump back against the pillows. I don’t know how he recognised it so quickly, but I reeled in my Legilimency, and let my fingers drift through Cassia’s hair.

“I will explain one the idea is fully fleshed-out; I have access to the Walters’ library, which is much more extensive than anything accessible at Hogwarts. This is my area of expertise – let me finish before I include you on the plan. And, next time you want to read one of my thoughts, have the decency to attack my mind yourself,” I tell Dumbledore, and the headmaster, with an unusually serious face, leaves the hospital wing, with McGonagall and Snape in tow.

“You are crazy sometimes, you know that, right?” Tonks asked me with a smile, and I nodded easily. The pink-haired professor, who looked more like a student than half of us here, looked to the floor, a little flush of embarrassment worming into her aura.

“It wasn’t your fault; Hermione made the choice to attack me about an essay like that. Just because you marked, it doesn’t make it on you,” I assure her, and she bounces back at my assurance, and nods gratefully at me.

Pomphrey returns, ushering everyone out, though Fred and George remain on their insistence. Harry and Ron try to do the same, but Pomphrey refuses, knowing they have been here for hours already. I'm somewhat glad someone’s still here - I'm not sure I could resist the temptation to sneak out of bed if I were left alone. Plus, they deserve to know what happened, at least hear it from my point of view.

I quickly explain my argument with Hermione at breakfast to the twins, and despite my best efforts, it's not long before I'm crying. In perfect sync, George takes Cassia out of my arms, and Fred squeezes into the bed beside me, pulling me into his chest for a hug. This side of them is so rarely seen, and it sets me off further as I cling pathetically to him.

Fighting the urge to fall asleep, I roll up my sleeves, scanning the angry red marks, that will form scars, and at one look at them, George carries Cassia out of the room, rocking her gently to keep her asleep.

Trying to sit up, Fred's arms encircle me, and I turn to look at him. "Please, I need to see ... how bad," I plead, and he agrees hesitantly, making me promise to let him help.

Shrugging off the blankets, I stand, my legs shaky, and throw off the outer robe, leaving me in a small hospital slip, and Fred transfigures a mirror, standing reassuringly behind me as I scan the red slashes, some worse than others, but all of them looking horrific. Fred's eyes are fixed on mine in the mirror, and I step self-consciously, the apology ready on my lips.

Ever since Christmas in my second year, Fred and George have always checked up on me; they found me crying in a secret passageway and I spilled everything about my family to them before I'd even told Ron, Harry or Hermione. They'd found me using the map, and from then, I kind of became another little sister to them.

Right now, I see the hurt in his eyes, the same kind of pain if he'd found Ginny looking like this. The same look I would have if Cassia was in my place and I in Fred's.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, attempting to grab the robe, but Fred grabs my hand, steadying me before I can fall. He ducks to pick it up, just as George walks back in the room, Cassia well and truly asleep, and he stares, the words dying in his mouth.

"Oh, Maevey," he breathes out, and I offer another apology, allowing Fred to help me back into the robe. I readily agree when they both insist that I owl them regularly, just socially, and I promise to tell them if I'm feeling like this again.

Though, as I'm saying it, something feels wrong; I wrote to them recently, and if I had felt like this, I would have mentioned it. "It doesn't really work that easily though, this all came on all at once, after arguing with Hermione where everyone heard, it was just too much," I explain as I sit on the edge of my bed. "I don't remember wanting to get that dark, either, I just wanted something to distract me. To feel something."

Exhaustion is starting to hit me, and they both notice it instantly. Fred takes Cassia from George, her barely stirring at the movement, and George pulls me to lie down against his chest, persuading me to sleep.

"I didn't mean to, with the Cruciatus, I just wanted to feel," I murmur, and George stiffens slightly, pulling me closer into his chest. I didn't realise he didn't know about that part. I thought I’d already said it. "I should be locked up," I continue, fatigue clouding my judgement, failing to filter my thoughts. 

"Maeve, never," Fred instantly defends, and a smile twitches at my lips. 

"That's wizarding law, though, right? Unforgivables are a one-way ticket to Azkaban." 

"It's okay, Maevey, no one is sending you anywhere. As long as you're safe now, try and get some sleep," George whispered, stroking my hair. I barely hear the door open, and assuming it's Pomphrey, I allow myself to drift to sleep, knowing whatever healing magic she wants to do can be done, regardless of my state of consciousness.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Caity B xx


	44. Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: aftermath of self-harm
> 
> Oops I forgot to post this yesterday - it was all ready and written and edited in my files but I just forgot!
> 
> Next Chapter: Sunday 14th February 2021
> 
> Enjoy!

***

When I wake up, the twins and Cassia are asleep still, and Pomphrey is bustling around the room, checking vitals magically and doing whatever other tests she thinks I need. On quiet conferring, she's deemed that as long as I get through today fine, I can leave, though it will be up to McGonagall as to where I can go. She's not so keen on my private quarters in the dungeons anymore, but there are few other options; I know I'm going to put my foot down against Cassia living in Gryffindor tower. I think McGonagall knows it too.

George stirs next to me, and I take his hand, interlacing our fingers in the reassurance that I'm okay. Because, surprisingly enough, I feel almost back to normal, like the last few days were simply me purging all the negative emotions I'd been storing up, and now, despite how battered my body is, I'm much better. I think it must be correlated to the magic levels at the surface, and now that my store is depleted, everything is much less intense.

"How are you doing, Maevey?" he asks, sleepy-eyed. Sending him a confident smile, I promise I'm feeling better, and, choosing to ignore the sceptical look, I sit up, reaching for the water on the dresser.

Harry and Ron come back a little later on, and I manage to persuade the twins to go to breakfast in the hall, and see their housemates, maybe cause a little trouble. Their eyes light up at the suggestion, and they take the opportunity, leaving me here with Cassia, not before ensuring that I'm fine approximately twenty more times.

Since I'm still wandless, and don't especially fancy flaunting that ability as of yet, Cassia and I play one of our "mind games", where we both create a story, projecting through our mental link, and I encourage her individuality and independence when she saves herself from the evil prince, and her wizard saviour is made redundant because she's a strong, independent woman, not a witch in distress.

Encouraging her to move around is more difficult, and I give in, allowing her to take me into a new story. We're both older, much older, Cassia having finished her education, and me with a fancy unnamed Ministry job, sitting beside the Hogwarts lake, joined with the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, Draco, Order members and professors. It's a beautiful scene, spirited debates over Quidditch fouls, and reminiscing about the old days.

Reaching my hand out to touch the older Cassia, she turns to me, her kind eyes striking me as the same as mother's, wholesome and true. Pushing further into the dream-like scene, I see Harry and Draco having a civil conversation, laughing together about how petty their arguments were, and Ron and Hermione are holding hands in the grass. When Draco sees me, he stands, kissing me gently in front of everyone.

Mrs Weasley invites me to join them all, scolding me lightly about letting my sister forgo pumpkin juice her whole life, and I find myself laughing, blaming myself, telling her I'm a soft touch. There are a few little kids running around, playing together on children's brooms, and Fred and George chase after them with harmless toys, letting them play with fake wands and acting surprised, throwing their wands in the air when the children call out _expelliarmus._

When Cassia releases me from the dream, I'm crying, and she cuddles me close.

"Stay," she whispers, and I promise her I will.

There's no way I could miss out on a future like that.

***

Before he left the castle, I sent out a mental thread, asking Remus to come and see me, alone, so we could talk without the audience of last time. I felt, rather than saw, the wry smile adorning his face on the intrusion, and as he walked into the room, I grinned.

"If it helps, that was the least intrusive I could be," I informed him, but there was little trace of humour in his mind. Right.

"You told me you were fine," he accused, and I looked away, my eyes finding the floor. The letter I sent hadn’t been happy, precisely; Draco and I had argued, heavily, and I poured a lot of emotion into that letter – though I think I axed most of it, before I could bring myself to let someone else read it. Remus might have a point, now that I think about it. "I need you to let me in, Maeve," he said, much more softly. I couldn’t block out the flashes of memories that crossed his mind. Mother, when she made all her crazy decisions, all of them uninformed and ultimately what led to their loss in friendship after Hogwarts.

"I’m sorry, Remus, I really am, " I tried again, taking his hand in mine. Cassia had gone to dinner with Harry and Ron earlier, and I was glad for the time alone I could get with Remus.

Remus grasped my hand, as gently as he could, and a single eyebrow quirked, more to himself than to me, but I caught the move. Prompting him for a reason, he considered silently for a minute.

He took my hand a flipped it over, gently tracing the invisible scar with his index finger. No words were necessary as I curled my fingers over my palm, hiding what I thought was invisible enough to go unnoticed.

"I know what a scar feels like, Maeve," he reminded me gently, and then smiled. "I shouldn’t be surprised really that you found a way to cover it up, probably with higher level magic than I want to know about." My lips twitched into a smile. He wasn’t wrong, precisely. I didn’t find the magic myself, but being able to perform it at such a young age was definitely not ordinary levels of magical control. I tried to find my voice, mostly unsuccessfully.

"Remus, my mother – she did this too?" I asked in a scratchy voice, filled with more emotion than I could vocalise and Remus stiffened a little. Then nodded once in a jerky motion.

I had my suspicions. Eventually, when you spend enough time in someone’s mind, you find something they don’t want you to. Mother shut me out so fast that day that I had mental whiplash, and refused to use Legilimency for days and days afterwards. She kept tighter locks on her mind after that, and once she had finally convinced me to come back and learn more, she was more hesitant to use her own mind for my training.

"Fifth year. James found her, uh, Forbidden Forest, and almost dead by all accounts," Remus said, his focus solely on keeping his voice steady. The onslaught of images in the front of Remus’ mind made me cringe, and he watched my reactions apologetically.

I do my best to block it all out, but images work their way through regardless.

“You asked me to be your Godfather, on your mother’s wishes,” Remus starts, and I drag myself back to the conversation. “I need to ask you, and I want you to answer me honestly. Are you, and Cassia, safe to stay at Hogwarts?”

I knew this was coming, but the worry hits me all the same.

“I’m not going to let Malfoy hurt Cassia like that,” I insist stubbornly.

Remus sighs. “And, what if you can’t stop him?”

“I can stop him, and I will use the power I have to in order to do so.” I leave no room for interpretation, and Remus’s eyes widen a fraction as he processes.

I wouldn’t say I am willing per se to use lethal force, but some would argue it is better to use lethal force than to leave someone so mentally broken that they would rather be dead. My heart has been locked away as I try and process the thoughts running through my mind. Did I just tell Remus I would kill Draco if he tried to hurt Cassia? I think I did.

***

Finally being released from the hospital wing was amazing - walking back through the castle corridors, I could've sworn I'd been out of them for more than a few days.

McGonagall gave me a stern talking to about her entrusting me back with the same room, simultaneously impressed and concerned by the wards I'd managed to cast. With a promise to temper down the severity of them, the professor returned my wand to me. The journey to my room was a winding one – luckily I had chosen breakfast-time to leave the Hospital Wing, to try and avoid as many students as I could manage, but I avoided all remaining interactions with Legilimency threads bolted out ahead of me, and ducking into a few empty classrooms.

I returned to my room eventually, sighing as I see the mess made of the previous ones. A clear signpost of the concern of whoever took them down. They would need completely redoing. And right now, I’m not sure I have the magical strength for that.

Settling Cassia down with some toys, I headed up to get changed in my room, only to find my room wasn't empty.

“Malfoy,” I said stiffly, and Draco jumped to his feet, not bothering to hide his tears. He’s a disheveled mess, and I don’t bother hiding the angry pink soon-to-be-scars to help his conscience.

“Maeve, I-” he started, and swallowed heavily, his eyes scanning my body, the exposed skin. “I thought you were going to die, and-”

I don’t want to have this conversation. I cut him off. “Then it would have just sped up what you threatened me with. Big deal. What do you want, Malfoy?”

A fresh wave of guilt passes into his aura, and I ignore it. He should be guilty. My own nonchalance about my death is forced, of course. I won’t leave my sister; I think I made that abundantly clear to myself with all the hasty stitching of wounds. Pomphrey said it saved my life.

“I’m sorry, Maevey, for everything; I don’t know what I was thinking, I just, when my friends told me, I just saw red, I guess,” Draco tried to explain, tripping and stumbling over his words.

“Fine, you’ve apologised, clear conscience. Good job. Now get out.” His eyes widen, and shakes his head. I glare at him, and the door pointedly opens.

“Maeve, please, don’t do this, please, give me a chance to fix it.” Draco pleads with tears streaming down his face. I can’t bring myself to care, to soften. _I am a Walters, and I do not yield._

“You put my sister in danger,” I start, slowly, my voice unwavering. “You threaten my life without a second question. I have spent two weeks waiting for the second when I’ll have to leave because _you_ decided it was convenient for you to out me. You lecture me on attacking your friends, and yet they attack me just as much,” I say, my fingers resting gently on my throat. Draco’s eyes widen as he processes, and I can’t believe he is that naïve.

“I didn’t know…” he trails off, guilt once again wracking his senses.

“How the fuck didn’t you know?” I shout, anger finally taking over. “They openly hate me, any muggleborns, and you thought, ‘oh Maeve just strangled herself?’ Seriously, Malfoy, you’re smarter than that.”

“Maeve, I didn’t know. If I had known then I would never have…” he trails off under my glare.

“You told me you didn’t need me intervening with you and your friends, because sometimes arguments need hashing out. Well, Malfoy, enlighten me. What happens when you don’t see that there is a problem in the first place?”

Draco hung his head. When he doesn’t speak, I raise my eyebrows at him. “Get out, Malfoy. You put me through hell, and for what? You to come crawling back two weeks later? Just fuck off.”

I ignore with burning in my throat as I say the words, knowing the lie hiding in them. Despite everything, I don’t want to lose him. But, Cassia’s life is not something I’m willing to gamble with – if I can’t trust him, then he can’t be a part of my, or her, life. End of story.

“Maevey, please,” Draco manages, and I feel the tears start to fall down my face. “Look, look in my mind, please. Anything – I was never going to do it, to tell anyone. I was scared, I lashed out in the only way I know how. I love you, Maeve. Please.”

Tears stream freely, and my voice cracks. Draco crosses the room to me, and takes my hand. I don’t have the energy to pull away. His hand is shaking around mine, and I try and swallow the fear building.

“Don’t make this harder than it already is; you told me Legilimency and power shouldn’t be the easy way out. My sister comes first, and you threatened her. I can’t do this, Draco. I can’t,” I say, turning away, and staring through tears at the wall. I hear his breathing hitch, and then, after the longest moment of my life, his uneven footsteps walk away.

I stand, facing the wall, unmoving. For a long time. I’m not sure how long, but I know I’m not going to make it to nine am defence. Tonks will understand, probably. I lose track of time as I try and process at my thoughts. The magic of the castle is never quiet enough, and a headache is forming around my temples. Maybe it’s the blood loss, or maybe the crying.

I hear Cassia jump onto my bed, and it’s enough to snap me out of the trance I’ve put myself in. I magic away the signs I’ve been crying, and look at my sister, uncharacteristic worry on her childish face.

I injected a healthy amount of enthusiasm into my voice and body language, as she pulls me downstairs. Oh, right. The wards were never replaced. And I have guests.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, Neville. Right.

“Let me put the wards back, and then you can ask whatever you want,” I say, with a slight note of panic in my voice. I hate feeling unprotected. Now that I’ve remembered, weight is settling on my chest at the thought of having to remain on my guard.

They talk in low voices behind me, and I block out as much of the nose as I can. The layers of wards go back more easily; it’s not the same as if I was building them from scratch. Connections still exist where the wards were bound to the wall, and all I need to do is weave the space between them. Blue magic crackles as the wards begin to take shape, strength returning to them. Protection, a place to breathe and know no one can get in. Well, at least not quickly. Perhaps that’s a good thing to come out of this – that it took four professors to break my wards. In that time, Cassia and I could be gone to Walters Manor. It’s a safety net I’m glad to know of.

Repairing all the wards takes me half an hour. I’m not as magically exhausted as I expected to be, but it wasn’t easy. It is easy compared to turning around to face my friends, after all the shit I’ve done.

“Maeve I-” Hermione starts, and I don’t look at her.

“I don’t want any more excuses today about how you weren’t serious, you weren’t actually going to hurt my sister,” I say tonelessly. She blanches, and Harry’s curiosity spikes at my words. Shit.

“You need to explain what the hell that means,” Seamus snapped. When I don’t reply, he continues: “Godric, Maeve, is it that bad?”

“Yes, it is,” I say quietly. “It is that bad, alright? If I tell you, it can’t leave this room, you have to swear to me you won’t tell anyone.”

Seamus stiffens but nods. Dean and Neville are quick to voice their agreement.

My fingers curl, nails digging into my palms to ground myself. Harry notices the motion, and takes my hand. I relax my hand, to see droplets of blood forming in the indentations of my nails. Fuck.

“I’m not exactly who I claim to be,” I start slowly, picking out specific words. “My name isn’t Ellis – it’s Walters.” Only Neville recognises what that means, and his jaw drops.

Dean clocks Neville’s reaction, and turns on me. “Explain what that means.”

“I’m one of the two remaining heirs to the Walters line – one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Pureblood families.” Seamus stands and paces the length of the fireplace, and Dean is completely still as he processes.

I turn to Neville. “The horror stories you’ve heard about my family are not true of me. Please, Neville, there is no need to be scared of me.”

Seamus stops pacing abruptly. “Stop saying things you know we don’t understand!”

Harry’s eyes flare defensively, and I squeeze his hand gently.

“Do you know what Legilimency is?” I ask, and they both nod. “The Walters are known in the wizarding world for Natural Legilimens, which means that a wizard or witch has a raw Legilimency power at birth. Because of rigorous training patterns and an _intense_ childhood, Walters are known as the most powerful Legilimency family in the world.” My voice remains a statement of fact, like I’m reading the information from a textbook. Seamus has started pacing again.

“And why aren’t you just a Walters now?” Dean asks, and Ron winces a little.

“I, er, oh fuck,” I say, running a hand through my hair and willing the tears away. The three Gryffindors who already know sit in uncomfortable silence. “There was an attack, and my family was systematically killed in order to not get in the way of Voldemort’s return.”

Seamus freezes, and I check the charm around Cassia that’s blocking out this conversation. Still intact. Good.

“Maeve, I-shit, are you okay?” Seamus asks, and I manage a smile that looks more like a grimace.

“It happened the year before I came to Hogwarts; I’ve had time to adjust to the concept of it. Besides, if there’s any way for a child to experience trauma, it’s best to see it directly, and then I couldn’t make up any horror stories about it no one could convince me never happened.”

Dean winces. “Maeve, that’s a little …” he searches for the right word, “clinical of you.”

I shrug. Being detached is the only way I can deal with this. Too involved, too _emotional_ , and I become vulnerable and distracted. And then the Legilimency could run wildly out of control.

“How did you get away?” Neville asks, and I bite my lip. How much magic do I tell them about?

“A glamour, an invisible one, and no one saw me,” I explain, and Hermione shakes her head. I turn to her for the first time, and stare unflinchingly at her.

“Glamours aren’t completely invisible – it must have been something more than that,” Hermione disagreed, and I choke down a laugh.

“Where’s the glamour in this room?” I ask neutrally. She canvasses the area around us, the common room she’s been in so many times, looking for traces of glamour magic. When she gives up, unwillingly, I run my tongue over the back of my teeth in annoyance.

“Around me – can you see it?” I snap, and she shakes her head. “Invisible glamours. Anyway, the point was that I saw everything happen, and yet somehow I’m not completely fucked up over it. Part of the Walters training I guess.”

We fall silent, and I wait stiffly for whatever the next question is that they are brave enough to voice.

“If we’re asking questions today,” Ron starts, and I manage a smile. “How powerful is your Legilimency? Like, what’s the extent of it?”

Exhaling, I make a decision to be honest. “I truly have no idea. The only comparisons I have were from when I was ten. I can read and control minds, implant and remove memories, track people using Legilimency, have conversations through mental channels with other people. The list isn’t that short, but you get the picture. I’ve not yet found something I can’t do with my Legilimency, it only depends on the scale of what we’re talking about.”

Seamus whistled softly, and I looked at the floor.

“Look, guys, after all this time, you deserve to know for putting up with my general insanity, but this can’t get out, anywhere. This is Cassia’s life we’re talking about – she has to be safe. If Voldemort were to find out about the Walters’ line not being extinct…” I trail off, and my meaning is implied.

Harry squeezes my hand. “It’s your life too, Maeve. You always say Cassia’s life, but it’s your safety too.”

I shrug. “I can handle it, if it’s just me. But Cassia is too young to be able to defend herself. So, it’s Cassia’s life I’m worried for.”

Hermione disappears off to History of Magic without many words, just her mumbled excuse about class. As much as I want to talk to her, I don’t try and stop her leaving. I’m at a conflict with myself because I refused to forgive Draco, and arguably Hermione was closer to revealing things about me, in front of the whole school. I also don’t want to fight with my friends.

“’Mione is trying,” Ron said, somewhat affectionately. “Can you not give her a chance, Maeve?”

Cassia manages to break out of the soundproof charm, and jumps into my lap with a picture in her hands. I praise it with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. She asks me to plait her hair, and I’m happy for something to do with my hands.

“I don’t know, Ron. I just – I think I need a bit of time.”

And it’s true. I want to forgive Hermione, but, as always, Cassia’s safety comes first. Perhaps I am a bit of a broken record, but Aunt Hannah made my goals very clear. If I’m not able to look after Cassia during the war, then she has to go somewhere where she will be safe. Without me.

 _Can we go pink again?_ Cassia asks, and I grin, changing the colour of her hair and conjuring a mirror. She squeals in delight, and when I tie off the ends of the plait, she jumps down, with another request she says aloud.

“Flying?”

With a look around everyone else, and to the general agreement, we all head outside, to the empty Quidditch pitch as everyone is in afternoon lessons, and spend the time until dinner laughing and flying, tossing around a Quaffle casually. Occasionally, one of the boys would have a question, and I did my best to answer them without causing too much concern. Surprisingly, none of them seemed to be taking the secret Legilimency as badly as I thought they might, and for that I’m quite happy. Perhaps, if something were to happen, and as long as Cassia was with Aunt Hannah, it would be manageable to be a Walters.

Just maybe.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Caity B xx


	45. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters Warnings: none really
> 
> Next Chapter: Thursday 18th February 2021
> 
> Enjoy!

***

The weekend passed in a blur; lesson catch up took all of my Saturday, and Sunday morning was Quidditch practice, and Sunday afternoon I spent teaching duelling to the younger years.

When I got back to my rooms with Cassia on Sunday night, Draco was hovering by the portrait-door. Without my realising, Cassia had run off ahead, and when I rounded the corner she was in Draco’s arms. Fuck.

 _Cassia, can you go inside please?_ I ask her, and she hears the finality in my tone, and listens without too much mental complaint.

I wait for him to speak. Draco fidgets nervously, and I simply stand in silence.

“Maeve, what’s it going to take for you to give me a chance?”

His tone is close to pleading, and I turn, walking into the empty Potions Lab Two. He follows me eagerly, and the door swings closed behind him.

“Malfoy, you have to understand my position here,” I say firmly, and his faces falls. “That girl, that girl who _trusts_ you, could have got hurt. Because of the position you created for me when you threatened me. You can’t expect me to forget that.”

“And what about Granger? You forgive her so easily?”

I shake my head. “No, I haven’t forgiven her. She almost announced it to the whole school. You threatened to tell the Death Eaters about it.”

“What if you removed the knowledge from my mind? Anything, Maeve, I just want you back,” Draco pleaded, and I forced a laugh.

“Seriously? Then I’m doing exactly what you’re so afraid of. That’s setting myself up to be in this same position again when you eventually figure something out. It’s not going to be that easy for you.”

A speck of hope grows in Draco’s mind. I cock my eyebrow, replaying my words in my mind, wondering what prompted that change.

“You said it’s not going to be easy, implying it’s possible,” Draco supplied, and I fought a smile.

When I let the silence stretch, afraid to say anything more than could be interpreted as forgiveness, Draco’s mind grew clearer and clearer. He was actively removing his shields, and, in doing so, making my blocking out of his mind more difficult. My restraint was well-leashed, but it was also testing my patience.

My mind drifts to Cassia, and my resolve strengthens.

“Stop, Malfoy. Just stop.”

He ignores me, the final shield falling out of place, leaving him completely exposed. When it clicks in my mind that this was his plan all along, I bite my lip to stop the insults. Draco focussed on memories of us, as many as he can throw at me, and there is little I can do but watch.

The last five months flashes in front of me, and emotion wells inside me. I’m horrified at the tears forming, and I send out a burst of Legilimency, stopping the memories hitting me. Draco recoils, and I quickly wipe away the evidence.

“Look, you know as well as I do that I don’t want to do this, but you have to understand that this isn’t a choice I make lightly,” I say, trying a different tactic, as clearly a clean break didn’t work. “Cassia comes first, always. And because of that, we can’t do this. I have to protect what is left of my family, Malfoy. So please, stop making this more difficult. Else I’m going to have to do something I really don’t want to do.”

Draco blanches, and I head to leave the room when he grabs my arm. In a quick, yet careful, movement, his lips are on mine, mingles with the salt of tears, and I can’t tell who was crying.

I indulge the kiss, reading the sadness in Draco’s aura: his last goodbye.

“I’m so sorry, Maeve. For everything,” Draco murmurs into my lips, and then he’s gone. I follow his aura away, monitoring him as I always do. I force myself to stop, and wipe the tears from my eyes.

Wiping the slate clean – such a Walters move, and yet I still feel it all like an Ellis. It tears my heart apart, pieces shattering on the floor, but I move on, without picking up the pieces, and head back to my sister.

Because she deserves much better than how I’ve been recently, and it’s time I start afresh and fix that.

Cassia and I build a fort in the middle of the common room, reinforced with magic and glowing softly. The warmth of the fire makes the room cosy, and we drink hot chocolate surrounded by blankets. She snuggles into my lap and I read aloud an excerpt from my charms textbook. Cassia plays with my wand, and though it’s not quite her exact wand, it’s close and she manages a very shaky levitation of an empty mug.

 _Wow, Cassia! I’m so proud of you,_ I praise, and she grins at me.

The thing with teaching Legilimency so early is that Cassia is going to be on third-year magic at least in her first year, but if we didn’t teach it early, Cassia would go to Hogwarts with untamed legilimency power without any ideas of how to control it. None of the teachers (bar Snape, technically) are experts in Legilimency, and none of them (definitely including Snape this time) are well-versed enough to teach it in the capacity a Walters needs to learn it in. Therefore, being bored and showing off in classes is a necessary side-effect.

But, she can’t get a wand until she gets her letter, and while she can practice with mine for now, it’s less than an ideal situation. Walters used to get their wands from America, once they realised they could get wands at an age younger than eleven there. I had my wand by the time I was six. Yet another Walters secret.

Perhaps over the summer I could get in touch with Quintana and see if she could make Cassia a wand.

Cassia insists on sleeping in the fort tonight, and I readily agree, slipping out to finish my Potions assignment I still needed a conclusion for.

I set the gramophone playing low classical music and continue with my assignment. Yet another perfect piece of work for Snape to critique and only give an Acceptable. Oh well.

***

As usual when trying to annoy the Gryffindors present in his class, Snape switched up the partners for this lab, and I was landed partnering with Daphne Greengrass. She wasn’t the brightest spark but followed instructions well enough, and didn’t completely louse up the preparations of ingredients.

When she almost put the catfish scales in at the wrong time, I was quick to grab her hand, and Snape caught the motion, instantly coming over. I quickly let her go and stayed silent, waiting for Snape to pounce. Whatever I would say wouldn’t make a difference, especially not with the number of Slytherins present in this class.

Daphne, surprisingly, was apologetic to me, blushing as she stammered an explanation to Snape that she made a mistake with the potion and I stopped her. Snape glared at me with distaste but said nothing, and Daphne breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away.

“Thanks for that,” I muttered to her, as I added the correct ingredient (lionfish scales) to the cauldron.

“That would have exploded all over both of us if I’d put those scales in,” Daphne shrugged, and I found myself staring at her. The Slytherin stirred the potion as the method required, and when the heat was turned up, simmering it for ten minutes, she turned back to me.

She met my eyes levelly. “Whatever it is going on with you and Draco, it’s hit him hard, and he’s been acting off for three weeks now. Naively he thinks we haven’t noticed, but I have, and I don’t like seeing my friend like that.”

“He brought it on himself,” I say firmly, and begin shredding the beetle wings.

Daphne sighed. “Probably true. But he clearly cares about you, Ellis. I mean, look at him,” she says, half-pointing across the classroom to where Draco was barely paying attention even as Snape scolded him for a unworthy attempt at the potion for such an _esteemed brewer_. Even as an insult, Snape still made it more complimentary than anything he had ever said to any of the Gryffindors.

Truly, the sight of Draco like that was a little pathetic. I did my best to block out his thoughts, but the emotional aura surrounding him was filled with pain and sadness. 

“I’m sorry, Greengrass, but you just don’t understand the full picture,” I say, and portion out all the remaining ingredients. “It’s complicated.”

Daphne fell quiet and we continued with the potion, finishing up and letting it cool. As we cleaned thing away (with magic, of course), Daphne paused as she watched me.

“Look, Ellis, I’m not a Death Eater, my family aren’t Death Eaters; is there a chance we could be less hostile?” she asked lowly, and I feigned surprise on my face as if I hadn’t been reading her thoughts and knew exactly what she was going to say.

“I never said you were, Greengrass, and sure, we can be civil, but I’ve got no promises for your housemates,” I reply, shooting a meaningful look at Zabini and Nott. Daphne nodded, and began bottling up the potion.

Returning spare ingredients to the student store, I paused, listening as I heard my name in someone’s thoughts. As I stacked the bottles onto the shelves, I tried to pinpoint the source, but the mention was too fleeting for me to get a decent read on where it was coming from. So, I gave up, returning to my desk and examining the bottle of specialist healing draught we had brewed. Daphne had given a sample to Snape already, and he had deemed it “good”, which is better than what he would have said if I were the one to hand it over.

Perhaps working with Daphne in Potions wasn’t such a bad thing.

Ron and Harry complained all the way to lunch about their partners, Zabini and Nott respectively, and Hermione seemed perfectly content at her own potion, but she said very little before splitting off.

Ron looked at me, then pointedly towards Hermione’s turned back.

“I’ll talk to her later,” I say, and Ron rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. Cassia jumps into my arms, and I carry her the rest of the way to the Hall for lunch.

 _What’s going on with you and Malfoy?_ Harry asks as we sit down.

 _Do we have to talk about that now?_ I replied, as Cassia grabbed at the juice that appeared for her. I steadied her hand, and she pouted at me.

 _Promise me we’ll talk about it later?_ Harry responded, and I nodded mentally at him. He gave up the argument, fading away from the doorway connection as we engaged with the Quidditch conversation.

The next match was Slytherin against Ravenclaw, and wouldn’t be until the end of February, but there was plenty of time for speculation for the match results. Ravenclaw were unlikely to concede easily because of their two previous losses, but the Slytherins were a strong team.

Our next match as a team was against Hufflepuff, and for the most part, we were ready for it, though any extra information we could glean (without my Legilimency, because I have repeated refused to use that to my advantage in Quidditch) would go a long way in our own preparations.

***

After dinner that evening, Harry pulls me aside, and Cassia stays in the Gryffindor Common Room with Hermione and Ron. We walk in near silence as we head for the Room of Requirement, and Harry paces in front of the door. Inside the room is a roaring fire, a sofa, and a huge four-poster bed occupying most of the space.

“Is the Room trying to tell me something?” I tease, and Harry blushes.

“I just asked for somewhere to talk,” he promises, and I do him the favour and ignore the fact I can tell he’s lying. Ignoring things with my Legilimency is difficult – I tend to know them, but simply act as if I don’t know them, because despite what the Walters thought (think, technically, since I’m still here), we are not owed any information we would like to take and use to our advantage.

Or, at least, that is not how I believe it should be.

Harry sits on the edge of the bed, and I hover, twirling my wand nervously between my fingers.

“Maeve, please, talk to me. You’ve been distant for weeks now, since the attack on the first-years.”

“I scared Draco, with the Legilimency stuff, and he threatened to expose me,” I say briefly, not wanting to drag this out any further. Harry’s aura is instantly saturated in anger. He jumps to his feet, wand in his hand, red sparks flying out at his lack of control. I stare pointedly at the floor until he calms down, and sits back on the edge of the bed, wand still firmly in his hand.

“When you came up to the Tower, before the attack – then, right?” Harry asked, and I nodded, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Bloody bastard,” Harry muttered, and I supressed a grin. “Has he done anything yet?”

I shake my head. The fire crackled in the silence that stretched, and I wrung my hands. Harry stilled my hands, and I sat down next to him, nervous energy flowing.

“He’s apologised now,” I manage to say into the silence, “twice, actually.”

Harry’s unasked question is harder to answer. Again, I want to ignore it until he asks, but he’s waiting, fully aware I read the question from his mind.

“He threatened Cassia’s safety, indirectly admittedly, but I can’t take a risk with her exposure,” I explain, and Harry nods in understanding. Gryffindor sixth-years had all become like surrogate siblings to Cassia, and most of them at some point had volunteered to babysit if I was unavoidably busy.

I love the family we had found at Hogwarts, but all that could come crashing down at the Death Eaters finding out Cassia was a Walters. Until she could protect herself, she would have to be kept safe, to _disappear_ essentially, most likely with Aunt Hannah, but even the thought of that, the thought of not seeing her for months or years until the world was safe to have two Walters running loose tightened my stomach.

Well, if the semblance of a plan I was forming worked, then it might just be one Walters.

Harry was watching my face carefully, and I realised I was all tensed up. I forced my body to relax, and Harry sighed.

“I wish I could see inside your head sometimes, Maevey,” Harry murmured. “And then maybe I would be able to help.”

“Cassia’s not safe.” My voice breaks, and I try and continue. “My aunt has offered to look after her again, now that she knows the war in the wizarding world is getting worse. But I don’t want to lose her.”

Harry shook his head. “You’re not going to lose her; do you know how many people in this castle want to protect her?”

I bit my lip. Yes, I did know, maybe better than people thought I did.

“More than those who would hurt her, I can guarantee it,” Harry answered for me, and I slowly agreed. “Now, do you need to get rid of some of that magic I can feel surrounding you?” Harry asked in a totally different tone as he stood up, and of course, he was right.

Regaining my composure, and slipping the emotion out of my sight, I smirked at him.

“Extra practice won’t make you beat me in Tonks’ tournament, you know,” I say confidently, and Harry rolls his eyes.

He sends a wordless spell at me, and I shield against it, watching Harry’s technique as he fires spells at me, with nearly no opposition other than the shield I’ve kept running.

“Maeve, in order to duel, you actually have to attack,” he said with a disbelieving smile and an amused shake of his head.

I send a stunner at him as he talks, and Harry manages to yell _protego_ before it hits him. “Like that?” I ask, and he glares at me.

Then the spells begin flying in earnest, and it takes a little more effort to keep up with the speed of the spells flying. I haven’t been to many of Snape’s training sessions recently, but they have still been going on, and Harry had markedly improved in his range of spells and the defensive magic he uses.

Though, _expelliarmus_ is still his fall-back spell when things are moving too quickly. And I use that, along with a spell with enough power to break his shield, to stun him. I grinned as he shook off the spell (I had used most of its power getting through the shield), and he sighed at me.

“You broke the shield?” he asked rhetorically. “Bloody hell, Maeve.”

“You’ve got better since we last duelled,” I remarked and Harry blushed a little. “This year there’s been a lot more time for practicing magic; it’s good to see.”

Harry lent back on the frame of the bed, a new question running in his mind. I tactfully ignored it, and instead started putting up wards and working on manipulating them. Anything to fully concentrate my mind was much appreciated, and it was a skill I’d need to utilize if my plan ever went into the “action” phase.

It was best to practice whilst I had the chance, and whilst Harry was still trying to figure out his words.

“Maeve?” Harry asked quietly, and I tore down the wards with a flick of my wand, and turned around. “What are you going to do about Draco?”

“I wish I knew.”

Mine and Draco’s relationship was never easy, but at the same time, I’m not ready to throw it all away and go all Walters on him, threatening or removing memories. It being a little difficult at times was what made it so strong; I can feel the pull my mind has to him when we’re in the same room. It had almost formed a mental reflex.

“Maeve…” Harry trailed off, his tone filled with concern.

“If I have to, I will do something that would make you all squeamish, yes,” I admit, and Harry flinches a little. “Only if I have to.”

“Okay, Maeve,” he acquiesces, and then, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

In a panic I’ve missed something, I scan his mind as I nod, building up the wards again. There’s nothing to indicate the nightmares are back; in fact, he looks better rested than ever. Regardless, I don’t rescind the invitation, and when I tear down the wards again after I’m satisfied with my manipulation, we head together up to the Tower to collect my sister.

I pause in the doorway to my room, Cassia running on ahead, and Harry almost walking into me.

“You can feel magic?” I asked, playing back the conversation in my head. He laughs at the randomnesss of the statement, a sliver of relief playing in his aura. Perhaps he said it earlier expecting a reaction, rather than me to be too wrapped up in my own life not to notice it.

Cassia notices we’re not following, and comes back, dragging me inside.

“Yeah, it’s just a feeling, like a measure of how much power a person has, and yours fluctuates more than anyone else’s, especially when you’re upset,” he explains, and I blush, looking at the floor.

Harry’s expression twitches as he watches my reaction, and I quickly hide it, filling my mind with energy for Cassia’s sake.

An odd familiarity of this type of magic encases my mind as I try and recall where I have heard of it before. But I can’t place it. 

“Thank you for telling me,” I say softly, and we both turn our attention to Cassia, happy to delay any further conversation until she’s safely tucked up in bed.

She goes to sleep relatively easily, after half an hour of training her Legilimency control with another person in the room to push her limits. Harry is sorely impressed with her, and Cassia’s dreams are filled with magic and hope for her own future. It only spurs me on to try and make her future the safest it can be.

“Maeve, what are you hiding still?” Harry asked, and at my confused expression, he grinned a little. “Wow, it’s not often that I confuse Maeve Walters. This is practically a special occasion.”

I smack his arm, and say, “I could read your mind and find out, but after all this time, I was sure you knew I try not to do that.”

“I know, Maevey, I know. Your magic spikes when you are trying to hide things, or generally supress things. You can talk to me, always, about anything.”

I bite in the inside of my cheek, considering.

“I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up with this plan I’m trying to make,” I say, and Harry sighs. “Please, I’m not going to argue about this. I will explain once I know it will work.”

He nods, seeing my stubbornness, and we settle into finishing assignments due in the coming days. The silence is not uneasy, per say, but it is far from the casual ambience we can usually work in.

I’m barely paying attention to my surroundings as I finish my Charms essay, when I say: “If you wanted to ask me that, you should have just said earlier.”

I turn to Harry, who’s puzzled expression tells me all I need to know. I swear under my breath, and attempt to find the words to explain.

“Sometimes, thoughts are so loud and realistic they can easily be confused with spoken sentences, and if I’m not really paying attention, it’s easy to confuse them.”

Harry put down his quill, and shut his book with a snap. “Then answer the question, if you’re going to take it straight from my mind.”

His tone was short, and impatience rolled off him. It is easy to forget how uncomfortable Legilimency makes people, when my friends so easily forget the depth of magic I possess.

“Remus is … he’s my godfather, Harry. My mother’s choice for a godfather. I’ve known for years, but only told Remus after I joined the Order, at Christmas.”

His eyes misted over, not with the anger I expected, but with glistening tears. Sirius flooded in mind, and I tried to ignore the undercut of jealousy sneaking into his mind, as he did his best to push it away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

Harry quickly wipes away the tears, and extend a silent mental branch, a wisp of comfort for him to hold on to if he chooses. His mind wraps around the tendril, and I move around the table and hug him.

“I just miss him,” Harry manages to say, emotion clogging his voice, and we stay like that for a while, the two of us knowing more intimately the suffering of the other than Ron and Hermione could imagine. It is reassuring, if horrible, to know that Harry just _gets me_ in a way neither of the other two can.

But I know the connection is nothing compared to what Harry wants, and I can’t bring myself to tell him that I know. His crush hasn’t gone away, though he seems to think he can hide it, and hide it mentally from me. He’s wrong, but I’ve been pretending he’s right for years. I think I can stand to pretend a little longer.

And it’s only a little longer. Not much more of this.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave your kudos, and comment your feelings about the story!
> 
> -Caity B xx


	46. Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: nothing really :)
> 
> Next Chapter on 21st February 2021
> 
> Enjoy!

***

I stick with Dean and Hannah all through Magical Creatures the next morning, and I flinch a little at the Thestrals. Dean couldn’t see them, and I sketched the black winged creatures as best I could. The textbook we had was good, but it took a significant portion of the lesson, where I didn’t have to be too close with the creatures. For that much I was happy. 

  
They can sense how tense I am, mostly for the anticipation of the conversation I need to have with Hermione. Our tension is causing a lot of unnecessary stress for the group, and the sooner we can get this resolved, the better. She has residual guilt, which is unsurprising. But I also have a wariness at fully forgiving her. 

  
Hagrid and Kettleburn encourage us to feed the Thestrals as a part of our education, and judging by most of the class, not too many of us can actually see them. Considering the state of the world, I am somewhat surprised, but that is a thought I keep to myself. 

  
I take the meat from Hagrid, and instantly have all their attention, and the attention of the majority of the class, as I walk over to the group, and begin throwing the meat at them. They catch it easily, all fighting playfully to get closest to me and have the best spot for getting food. As the rest of the class watches my ease, some of the others who can see the Thestrals come and join me, if a little hesitantly. The grin on Hagrid’s face widens as more people join in, no longer so afraid of the creatures. 

  
One of the Thestrals makes an alarmed noise, and then the herd begins to scatter, much to Hagrid’s chagrin and confusion. The student who can see the Thestrals flinch, and I scan the forest for the disturbance that has upset the herd so much. Everything appears silent at first glance, but when I send out feelers of Legilimency magic, there is a thick coating of fear over the forest’s inhabitants. Kettleburn was in the process of getting the class away from the forest, and when I didn’t move to follow, Dean came over and shook my arm.   
“Maeve, come on. We gotta go,” he hissed, and I shook my head. 

  
“Not yet, there’s something wrong here,” I murmured back, most of my energy flowing through my magic. 

  
“How you haven’t already exposed yourself amazes me,” he muttered, before taking hold of my arm and dragging me away from the forest and the dangers lurking within. I snap out of my Legilimency trance when we reach the edge of the forest, and the bright sunlight of the morning dazzles my unadjusted eyes. 

  
I stamp down on the annoyance bubbling up towards Dean, and my attempt to find what had spooked the Thestrals was a complete failure. Conceding that Hagrid would be able to find them, and figure something out, I let myself follow the rest of the class inside, Kettleburn a little too frazzled to teach. The class instead headed for the library under his instruction, to work on our revision for end of year exams. 

  
A couple of study groups formed on the different tables, and I soon found my boredom hitching higher and higher. It didn’t take long for me to give up, and instead end up trawling through the shelves for any useful information I might have missed the last time I was here. I find a new book on magical prophecies, and flick through that, but, as I expected, there is nothing about breaking prophecies, other than a single footnote, saying that a wizard attempted it, but that attempt was a part of the prophecy, so all it did was complete it.   
Visions of the Department of Mysteries flood my mind, and all the countless prophecies that were smashed, including the one about Harry and Voldemort, resurface. How do you even attempt to break a prophecy when the physical prophecy is in millions of pieces?

  
I snap the book shut in irritation, and put it back on the shelf, making an excuse to Dean and Hannah about seeing Cassia. This flies well, and I go and collect my sister, sighing as I see Draco coming down the corridor towards me. Though his mind is almost shouting at me, he says nothing aloud, and a chill runs over me as we walk past each other without saying a word.   
I hated that. 

  
But, I put it out of my mind as I collect Cassia, and we head up to the Gryffindor Common Room. Since I’m the only one with a class this period, Harry, Ron and Hermione are all in the common room; Hermione working, Ron looking as if he only just got out of bed, and Harry going over Quidditch score-sheets and tactics. When they see me, concern flashes, but I shake my head.   
“Something in the Forest, Hagrid wanted to check it out, and Kettleburn sent us to the library to revise,” I explain, and Cassia jumps up into Harry’s lap, looking at the animations he’s bringing to life of our team and our formations. 

  
I breathe carefully as I head over to Hermione, and sit down next to her. 

  
“Can we talk?” I say quietly, and Ron and Harry both make a show of not listening in, though I know they both are. I throw up wordless, wandless privacy charms around us, blocking out all the sounds we make, but we can still very much hear them. Just in case, with Cassia, I don’t like to be completely cut off with magic. 

  
Hermione puts down her quill, and snaps shut her book. When she meets my eyes, hers are filled with pain, and guilt. 

  
“Look, Hermione, we’ve been friends for a long time, alright? I don’t want to lose that, but honestly, you scared the shit out of me, and I was prepared to do something you wouldn’t forgive me for.”

  
Her eyes widen, a fraction of fear entering her mind, but when she speaks her voice is clear of emotion. “Maeve, I know I overreacted, and I didn’t want to hurt you or Cassia. I just – I let my anger build up over too long, and then I just snapped.”

  
I pause, and something in her words doesn’t sit right. It wasn’t the apology I expected; fuck, it was barely an apology to begin with. Forgiving her instantly for this, and then not giving Draco a chance is plain unfair, and I don’t know what to do. 

  
“Maeve, please, say something,” Hermione almost begged, and I shot her a disbelieving look. 

  
“’Mione, what do you want me to say? That I can forget it happened? Because that’s not true. I’m not sure you quite understand what would happen if the whole school found out,” I say, and she recoils. 

  
“I know what would happen,” Hermione whispers, my death on the front of her mind, and I shake my head. 

  
“No, you don’t,” I state, matter-of-factly. “At the very least, I die. At the most, anyone even thought to be connected with the Walters dies, which means anyone suspected to be using Legilimency on a high level. It doesn’t just put me in danger; it’s so much bigger than that.”

  
Hermione shrinks back a little, and I sigh. I didn’t come here to argue. I run a hand though my hair, a little agitation playing on my mind. Indecision plagued me in the moment, and Hermione’s own fear and apprehension swept over me, clouding any judgements I could form. 

  
“Maeve, I…” Hermione trailed off, wringing her hands uncertainly. 

  
I didn’t speak, waiting for her to find all the words that swirled in her mind. There were enough there, but she chose not to use them, testing my patience a little. This was not the same type of apology as we had tried before. In second year, when Hermione’s Lockhart obsession still stood, and my annoyance at the fraudulent professor was most obvious, she didn’t speak to me for weeks unless she had to. The awkward apology between us after the Mandrakes had cured the Petrified was nothing akin to this. That was a childish fight; this was just short of irreversible damage. 

  
“I didn’t want to hurt you; I’m sorry, Maevey. For it all.”

  
I nod shortly, then stand. Hermione grabs my hand, looking up at me expectantly. 

  
“I need time to get back to normal, ‘Mione. This isn’t going to go away overnight.” 

  
Leaving the common room felt a little dramatic, so, in the presence of all the oldest Gryffindors who didn’t have classes, I simply sat with my sister by the fire, playing with magic. I did make the effort to use my wand, but, as I’d now had so much practice with wandless magic, it was more of a chore to think about how I cast with a wand compared to how instinctive the wandless casting had become. 

  
My mind idled, and I began to think over the box that had sat taunting me in my bedroom since Fred and George left the castle. The emerald box, that I still couldn’t get into. To break into it, or find whatever its magical key was, I would need more information from the Walters Library than I currently had access to. 

  
Disappearing through the fire in my quarters to Walters Manor wouldn’t take long, and it potentially could be done without anyone finding out. However, given my recent issues, I don’t think ducking out on everyone behind my locked wards, is a good plan. 

  
No, I definitely can’t do that again. I can’t see that expression on Harry’s face again. 

  
However, I still need to go to the Manor. 

  
Perhaps, once this week is over, and we’re on our sort-of half-term break, I can find the time, and the willpower, to explain at least a fragment of my plan. Then, Cassia can be looked after by Harry, or Ron, or honestly whoever is willing (and trustworthy, of course) whilst I go and find what I need. And try not to have an existential crisis in the Manor in the meantime.   
Easier said than done. 

***

The rest of the week passes in a blur, and then we have a week of “holidays” mid-term, but everyone knows it’s the time to be starting revision, especially for the exam years. Thankfully, that’s not us this year, but Hermione is still treating it like it is. But it is making school feel like an actual school, which I can appreciate. 

  
Cassia and I have spent more time than ever in the Gryffindor common room, and with the next match not too far away, there is the gradual build-up of tension and excitement growing with each passing day. Slytherin against Ravenclaw, and Ravenclaw have something to prove. They haven’t won a single match yet, and this is their last one of the season. It’s looking to be an exciting one, and Ravenclaw are practising more than usual, taking up all available practice spots, and both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff have lost practice slots down to Hooch letting the two teams playing in the next match take priority. In all fairness, I don’t mind it, but as long as we get the same treatment before our next matches, it is fine. 

  
The lake freezes over during the holidays, and though this isn’t a typical holiday, half the school seems to be out skating on the lake most of the time between meals. Cassia has been begging for the chance to go ice-skating, and when we finally manage to convince some of our year-mates to join us, it’s nearly half way through the holiday. 

  
Hermione agrees to come too, though I think it’s just because of Cassia’s persuasion. She’s buried herself in revision since the apology, and I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that Hermione didn’t mean badly, and she won’t ever do anything like it again. In the same way I have monitored Draco’s mind, my Legilimency is a constant, but unseen, presence around her. I am taxing my Legilimency more than usual, trying to keep tabs on Draco from Gryffindor Tower when he is in the Slytherin Common Room. But, all in all, it is good practice for long-range Legilimency, which is such a Walters response to this whole situation.

  
When we finally drag them all outside, and boots have been transfigured into ice-skates, we take to the icy surface of the lake. Cassia and I skate around easily – Aunt Hannah took Cassia skating every week from the day she could walk, and I have the slight advantage of magic. 

  
However, I turn back to my friends, who are mostly stumbling about, trying not to fall over, and even that seems unsuccessful. Hermione has the most balance of all of them, and Neville and Ron are both flailing around. 

  
“How are you so good at this?” Harry calls across the ice, and I shrug. I’m not quite ready to give the game away just yet. It’s more fun this way. Instead of a verbal answer, I pick up speed on my skates, and launch into an axle jump, landing flawlessly (and magically) on one leg, gracefully spinning to a stop. As I have everyone’s attention, I flash a grin, and sketch an exaggerated bow.

  
Skating back towards my friends, I take Harry’s arm, and lead him around, showing him the skating basics. I can do the basics without the magic, but that jump? Not so much. 

  
“Come on, it’s like flying – just balance and practice,” I say, gradually speeding up, until he lags behind and is left without the support of my arm. 

  
The ice is freeing, and I speed around, spinning and jumping, even at one point lifting my sister so she’s resting on my shoulder and flying like a plane. Cassia’s laughter echoes around the lake, over most of the noise of the other students here, and when I flip her down, she skates away happily, grabbing Neville’s hand and pulling him out further onto the ice. 

  
Hermione and Ron are skating together, Ron leaning more heavily on Hermione’s arm than he would like to let on, but regardless, it’s nice to finally have them getting along. There’s been tension between everyone and Hermione since the argument, but our sort-of apology earlier, and my insistence that everyone should just pretend it never happened, has blown that out of the water. 

  
I catch sight of Draco on the shoreline of the lake with a group of friends; none of them appearing to want to skate, but even so, I flick a shield around Cassia without much of a delay. It’s not Draco I’m worried about – it’s his friends I don’t trust. Which in itself is problematic given what he knows.

  
The Slytherins leave my mind as Seamus and Dean come crashing towards me, and I just about manage to skate out of their path, before they both fall and end up in a tangle on the ice. Seamus shivers, and I give them both a hand back to their feet. 

  
“How much time have you spent skating, Maeve?” Dean asked with no small amount of interest. 

  
“Not consistently, but there’s a huge pond, well kind of a lake, in the gardens at Walters Manor, and we used to always freeze it over during the winters, even if it wasn’t actually cold enough to freeze. There’s been a decent amount of time on ice.” 

  
Seamus looks carefully at me, and I smile, trying to let him know that he doesn’t need to be so worried. Casually mentioning my family is now something I can do with the Gryffindor boys, and it’s nice to not keep the secrets and have to come up with some bullshit lie about Muggle skating rinks near my fictitious primary school. 

  
“I’m glad you told us, Maevey,” Seamus says, and I agree wholeheartedly. Widening the circle is dangerous, but based on the plan I’m forming, Legilimency is going to be a part of it, so people are going to find out about that, and then connect the dots regardless of what I say. 

  
And I trust them all not to say anything to anyone else. 

  
Warming charms plus the ice is a precarious game, but most of us are wrapped up warm enough not to need the warming charms. Plus, none of us want to break the ice and fall into the lake.   
Draco is still on the snowy ground with the Slytherins, and I’m trying not to stare. Harry distracts me with his balance, and I head over to stabilise him, mostly with magic. Knowing that Draco’s watching me from his mind, I skate across the ice with Cassia close to me. Not that I think he would do anything, especially with all these people watching, however my limit on taking chances is much lower than usual. 

  
“Maevey, watch the ice over there, it’s getting a little thin,” Dean calls out. Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I take out my wand from the sheath on my arm, and cast a wordless ice charm, thickening the ice and fill in all the cracks forming from the skates. That made my friends laugh, and at times, I can’t believe they forget they’re at a magic school, and they are all wizards. 

  
Unlearning the casual magic was something I never managed, but this isn’t casual magic per say; it’s more like common sense if we all want to stay on the ice. I’d rather not take a swim.   
When Cassia’s beginning to get cold, and is asking for hot chocolate, we collectively agree to leave the ice. I transfigure mine and Cassia’s boots back to normal, and I’m glad that by the time we’re leaving, none of the Slytherins are on the lake shoreline. That confrontation is something I want to avoid. 

  
Together, all of us head back to my quarters, warming up in the small space, and enjoying hot chocolates by the fire. It’s a lazy afternoon if ever I’ve seen one at Hogwarts, and I’m glad for the time we can have together, so casually. In the current crowd, my Legilimency isn’t a secret, and neither is my heritage. Not that I flaunt it, but the use of more casual magic is freeing, as are the silent mental conversations I can have with Cassia without having to make it seem as if I’m doing something else. 

  
For all of this, I can overlook the tension building, the apprehension surrounding my magic, and how much I’ve been holding back for so long. Perhaps it is just because I’m too tired to think of all the reasons I shouldn’t be doing this, but it is nice nonetheless. 

***

The relief in Harry and Ron’s auras when I inform them of my plan to return to Walters Manor briefly is a little overwhelming. 

  
I know how much my secrecy frustrates them, and I have been trying my best to reduce that. But with the pressure of trying to come up with a plan to save the wizarding world, I haven’t done the best in sticking to that. And, to their endless annoyance, I have been entirely inflexible, no matter how much professors and students alike have questioned me on the plan I professed to be creating when in the Hospital Wing. Perhaps it was a bad idea to even mention it, but I don’t want to invade anyone’s minds to take it back. 

  
“I need the library there, and there are a few things I need to test, just spells and wards, the like,” I explain as Ron asks the purpose of my visit. The fire is roaring in the grate in my common room, and I am trying to resist the urge to turn it green immediately and just walk through to the Manor. I just want to get this over with before I can overthink it. 

  
“Maybe someone should go with you?” Harry asked gently. “You have a habit of losing track of time there.”

  
He made a fair point. 

  
“Okay,” I conceded, “But what about Cassia? I’m not taking her there, not yet. Not until…” I trail off, regretting my words. I shake my head as Ron prompts me to continue, and the subject is easily dropped. Not until I know I can handle her questions. 

  
“What about Seamus, Dean, or Neville? They all know about you now, what’s the harm in using that?” Harry asks, and I shut that down instantly. 

  
“Neville does this thing now where he tries to pretend he’s not scared of me, but the horror stories about the Walters still swim to the front of his mind every time we have a conversation.”  
Red-hot anger spikes in Harry’s mind, but I shake my head, a sad smile on my face. 

  
“It’s okay, I knew that would be a reasonable reaction. Now, I really want to get on with this, so can I go already?”

  
Ron and Harry glanced at each other, a silent question passing between them. I tried not to listen in to it, looking away, back to the fire. 

  
“I’ll come with you, Ron will look after Cassia,” Harry stated, standing up from the armchair. “How exactly are you going to override the Hogwarts- oh for fucks’ sake, that took you like no effort!” 

  
As he spoke, I turned the fire green, and I attempted not to smirk too much at his exclamation. Cassia moved out of her privacy bubble, and I picked her up. 

  
“I’ll be back soon, I promise. But Ron’s here for you, okay?”

  
 _You promise you’ll be back soon, Maevey?_ Cassia asked, and I nodded, sincerity flowing from my mind into hers. This appeased my sister easily, and she scrambled to get down, backing away from the green flames she had learnt to hate. 

  
“I, Maeve Anne Walters, give you, Harry James Potter, permission to enter Walters Manor.”

  
Harry nodded to the fire, and a flicker of apprehension overtook his mind. I smiled encouragingly. 

  
“It’s nothing that scary, I promise. Just, try not to start a conversation with the portraits, yeah?” Harry nodded with a slight grimace – the portraits at Grimmauld Place were unfriendly and downright insulting, but the ones at Walters Manor were more devious and cunning; clearly a Walters trait that got easily passed down. 

  
I paused before I stepped into the fire, turning back to Ron, who was watching both of us carefully. 

  
“I, Maeve Anne Walters, give you, Ronald Bilius Weasley, permission to enter Walters Manor.” As the magic took effect, Ron raised his eyebrows. “Only if absolutely necessary, alright? We should be back by dinner.”

  
The last thing I saw before we stepped into the fire was Ron nodding, with Cassia hoisted into his arms and Harry following me through the grate. 

  
As I hoped, we appeared in the grate in the main library of Walters Manor. Deciding which grate within a house like this was difficult and unreliable, but to my surprise, it worked as I wanted it to. 

  
“So, what exactly are we looking for?” Harry asked, scanning the stacks and stacks of shelves, which to him mostly contained books with blank spines. To me, however, none were blank, and all held magic beyond the wildest aspirations of the Hogwarts library. Perhaps even the depths of the Restricted Section too. 

  
“Honestly, mate, I’m not sure how much help you can be if you can’t read what’s written in the books,” I explain, and he raises his eyebrows. “Walters paranoia, remember? It wasn’t enough that no one could even get in here to begin with, but that nothing of importance would be divulged unless you were of the Walters bloodline.”

  
Harry glanced around again. “So you’re going to search all these shelves by yourself?”

  
I round sharply on him, trying to hold back a laugh. 

  
“Are you or are you not a wizard?” I ask with a grin. Harry rolls his eyes, jokingly drawing his wand on me. “There is a spell, for the information I want to look for to come to me. It should be enough to end up with a shortlist of where I might find the instructions to open that damn box.”

  
I lead him through the stacks to the very centre of the library, and a thought occurred to me. 

  
“You can do magic here, by the way. Nothing gets in or out of these wards, not even underage magic.”

  
Harry sighed, and a wave of regret passes over me. Perhaps all this is a little too much? I know it is a lot, and that always seemed normal to me as a child. From getting a wand at a young age to more magical education than any other child would need, none of it stuck out to me until I went to Hogwarts. 

  
I don’t say anything else as we come to the centre of the library, and I cast the right spell, willing the right books to come to me. I tell the library I want to know about breaking prophecies, unlocking the emerald box, and using offensive Legilimency during a battle. 

  
The stack of books the library creates is substantial, and fills the desk at our side, in three neat stacks, one for each of the topics I asked about. Harry’s eyes widen, and I wonder how many of the books are blank to him. Probably most of them, honestly. 

  
“Prophecies, Maeve?” he asks, picking up one of the books. 

  
“I promised to try and break it, didn’t I?” I say in a small voice, looking between the two books that mention the emerald box. Neither of them are written in Great Aunt Esmeralda’s hand, and I guess that neither of them will hold her secret to unlocking the box. 

  
Harry looks at me, dropping one of the books. 

  
“Yeah, you said that at Christmas, but I didn’t think you actually would – that’s definitely going to get suspicion placed on you if you manage it,” he argues, and I shrug. 

  
“Look, it was just a bit of research to see if it was even possible. Still, I’m not sure that it is. Can we leave this argument until I know if it’s realistic?”

  
Harry nods, and I spell the two books on the emerald box to return to their shelves with an exasperated profanity. I know where her journals are kept, and I really don’t want to go looking for them. But, it’s the main reason I came here, so I need to do this at some point. 

  
Watching me expectantly, Harry shifts each of the two remaining piles of books into separate piles – ones he can read, and ones he can’t read. One pile is alarmingly larger than the other.   
“I think I know where the key to unlocking the emerald box is kept,” I say carefully, my voice softer than usual, and worry floods into Harry’s aura. “The, uh, the same room as…” I trail off, and Harry nods his understanding. 

  
He crosses the space between us, and pulls me into a hug. 

  
“I’ll be with you, every step of the way,” Harry swears, and my resolve strengthens a little. 

  
“We should go now, then,” I say, and Harry nods, taking my hand firmly in his. 

  
This was the room, well, one of the rooms, I had strictly avoided at Christmas, and refused to go anywhere near. Even passing it had been a struggle, but necessity had won over, and I knew I couldn’t live in fear forever if I was going to actual help save the wizarding world. With Harry at my side, and the easiest way out of the Manor, since there was a fireplace in almost every room, I forced myself, one step at a time, to face what had been haunting me for seven years. 

  
***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Caity B xx


	47. Careers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: PTSD memory flashback
> 
> Next chapter publishing on 25th February 2021
> 
> Enjoy!

Remembering the way from the library to the first sitting room is a walk in the park. I spent as much time as I could as a child running the lengths of these corridors, usually with at least two adults trying to stop me. But as the only child in the house, I had to find ways to entertain myself somehow when I was not busy with lessons or Legilimency practice. And, the physical exercise helped with the mental exercise that accompanied Legilimency. One way or another, every leads back to Legilimency with the Walters. 

  
I ignored all the paintings along the walls, but walked slowly enough that Harry had time to gawk a little. The more I come back here after going to Hogwarts myself, the more I have begun to realise that if you made Hogwarts a little smaller, and a hell of a lot darker and mysterious, then you would have Walters Manor. They truly aren’t that dissimilar, and all the portraits only add to that vision. 

  
Unable to dwell on the more recent family portraits, given where we were heading, I pulled Harry past them, until we were in the main entrance of the Manor, the doors of the Hall up ahead.   
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Harry asked, as he noticed my hand shaking in his. 

  
“Nope, but it has to be done,” I say, exhaling slowly. If the contents of the box is what has been eluded to in the vague accounts of my grandmother’s diary, then it’s more valuable than I can imagine.   
The door opens for us, and the first step into the room is the most difficult one to persuade myself to take. As promised, Harry stays at my side, and when I force myself into the room, I hand him my wand. He takes it hesitantly, watching my expression, and presumably my levels of magic, carefully. I’m trying to keep it all under control, keep a lid of what wants to boil up and over the edges. 

  
The room itself is mostly unchanged from how I remember it as a child. Traces of vanishing spells litter the floor – presumably to clear up the blood. Regardless of how much I try and avoid it, memories flood back to me, and the lines blur between the empty room in front of me and the memory of the slaughter. 

  
Legilimency overwhelms me, and without meaning to, the scene projects in front of me. Harry freezes at the changes, and I realise he must be able to see it too. I try and break away, drop his hand, but he holds tight. I should have known he was serious about refusing to let me go through this alone. The memory plays, and a ghostly outline of my childhood presence illuminates, invisible beneath more spells than I would care to admit.

  
When the first Unforgiveable lands, my tears start, and I turn into Harry’s arms, unable to watch. Every attempt at reeling the Legilimency back in fails, until I’m barely able to process what I’m doing. Before my mother can die in this memory – vision, I guess? – I lose the steadiness in my legs, and fall, bringing Harry crashing down with me. 

  
Around me, the vision dissolves, and the room is as empty as it was when we first walked in. 

  
“Fucking hell, Maeve,” Harry whispered, and held me close, until my hands stopped shaking, and my magic was once again under my control. Time warped, and I have no idea how long it took.  
I vanish all traces of crying from my face, and try and stand. 

  
“You see why I gave you my wand?” I ask shakily, managing a hint of a smile. 

  
“Kind of, yeah. Godric, Maeve, you saw all that when you were ten?”

  
I nod, and head to the other side of the room, whilst Harry is still trying to process what he just saw. The cabinet I knew would contain her diaries is warded, but I break that down as quietly as I can, still stuck in the habit of not alarming people with the magic I possess. The wards break down more easily than I expected them to, but judging by the feeling around them, they needed reinforcing maybe once a decade, and it’s been a fair amount of time since she would have done this. Esmerelda died before the attack, three years before, so it’s been at least a decade since these wards were touched up. 

  
I rifle through the books with little concern, and then use a modified searching spell, like the one in the library, to find the information I need. I start flipping through the diary the spell indicates, and then turn back to Harry. 

  
He hasn’t moved, and I pick up the diary I need, and lead him out of the room, closing the door softly behind us. 

  
“Are you okay? I didn’t mean to show you all that, I’m sorry.” 

  
Harry sighs. “Only you could be apologising for that. Maeve, you don’t have to go through all this on your own.”

  
“Walters habit,” I excuse, and we head back to the library in silence. 

  
A question hung on the edge of Harry’s mind, but I made no motion to him that I had seen it. I have enough control, especially being in the environment of all my childhood teachings, that I can ignore it. When we return to the library, I take a bag off one of the shelves, and start piling the useful books into it. But, when my fingers grasp a book that wasn’t supposed to be here, I drop the bag, which thuds loudly to the floor. 

  
In a pretty silver cursive on the leather cover reads the title: A Walters’ Guide to Offensive Legilimency. Why the library decided this one was relevant to my searches, I don’t know, but whilst it’s here, I have to admit to peaked curiosity. Harry summons the bag from the floor, still a little surprised that he can do magic outside of school. He glances around, as if expecting a Ministry Owl to appear through one of the walls. 

  
I sit on the edge of the table, and flick open the page. Harry raises an eyebrow at what I assume must be blank pages for him, but I don’t respond, my attention rapt by the pages and pages of handwritten cursive script. Everything I could ever think of to do with Legilimency is here, and so much more. Every potion’s effects can be replicated with mental manipulation, and every spells or curse can be used with Legilimency at the forefront of the power. 

  
Losing track of time, I manage to get a third of the way into the book, before Harry interrupts me. 

  
“Maeve, we should be getting back.”

  
“Yeah, I’ll be there later,” I say distracted, running my finger down the page of instructions of how to manipulate memories on mass. Harry takes the book forcibly from my hand, and I finally turn my attention to him fully. 

  
“You’ve been ignoring me for two hours, Maeve. What’s so interesting?” 

  
I briefly consider lying to him, but the prospect is a little futile when I’ll be using what I learnt here so soon. “Offensive Legilimency, the kind that is very illegal and the exact reason people hate Legilimens.”

  
Harry blanches, and I snatch the book back from him, shoving it in the bag on the table beside me. Something catches my eye in Harry’s aura, and I turn to him with a quizzical look.   
“You weren’t here the whole time, were you?”

  
“Nope, I didn’t expect you to notice, honestly.”

  
“Where did you go?” I ask quietly, and when he doesn’t answer, I repeat myself, louder. “Where did you go?”

  
Harry throws up his arms, stepping backwards. “Nowhere special! I found a few bedrooms, a classroom, a cupboard full of brooms.”

  
I relax a little, but I don’t know fully why I was so tense in the first place. Where would have made me more tense, and why does it matter? Besides the glaringly obvious issue of the sitting room where everything happened, I don’t know what else I deem as crossing a line. In a strange way, I want my family rooms to stay unchanged, to be exactly what I remember from my childhood. 

  
Pushing myself up off the table, I sling the bag over my shoulder. “Let’s go back then,” I say quietly. In a quick glance at Harry’s aura, and upon truly taking in his confusion at my attitude, I rub gently at my temples. 

  
“I’m sorry, I just – I’m a different person when I’m here. I lose Maeve Ellis and live up to exactly what I was trained to be as Maeve Walters. I shouldn’t have let you come.”  
Harry put a hand on my shoulder, turning me to face him. 

  
“Look, Maeve, I get it, alright? If I ever go back to Godric’s Hollow, I’ll be a mess too.” I knew it was true, and some part of me - most likely the Ellis part - wanted to forgive myself for it, and allow myself this leniency. But at the same time, I was trying to win a war using my Walters talents, meaning that the Ellis side of me needed to shut up. And let my bitch of a Walters self shine through. 

  
“Thanks, but we still need to be heading back,” I say, lighting the fire with barely a second thought. 

  
As I walk towards the fire, Harry grabs my arm and pulls me back. Concern lit his features, and when I looked into the front of his mind, he was firmly building up shields. I took that as my signal not to look, despite the ability I have to see through the shields. I pulled out of his mind, only able to see his emotions. 

  
“Maeve, what you’re doing, what you’re planning - the world is going to know you are a Walters,” Harry said, no trace of doubt in his expression. Seeing no other option, I nod.

  
“There’s no other option that doesn’t end with so much death,” I whisper, barely able to make my voice work. “It’s important to use Legilimency, and my skills.”

  
“How do you know?” he returned, taking a step forward. 

  
“Voldemort is not one for playing nicely, Harry. We have to use something he doesn’t know we have. It’s the only way to gain an advantage and stop him preparing for it.”

  
Anger rippled in Harry’s aura, and it was then I noticed our proximity. Harry was six inches away from me, and something too quick for me to see fogged his eyes. Then his lips were on mine. Warm and gentle and filled with emotion. 

  
My first instinct was to respond, and then my rational side kicked in. All the emotion Harry poured into that kiss was too much, and not fair of me to give him the wrong idea. I moved away, lips still tingling from the contact, but unable to form any words. I caught a flash of a thought escape his mind, and though I was surprised, I didn’t react. That wasn’t something he wanted me to see. 

  
“Harry - I’m not - I can’t put myself in another relationship so soon,” I murmur. “It’s too soon; it’s not fair to you.”

  
He looks resolutely at the floor, and the fire flares again. The crackling fills the room as magic flares in Harry’s hands. 

  
“We should go back to school,” I add quietly when Harry’s silence stretches uncomfortably. 

  
“What has he got on me?” Harry asks the words echoing around my mind. 

  
I swear quietly, and then I note the anger bubbling up in his aura. Red hot anger. The kind that makes him lose control of his magic. 

  
“It’s not like that and you know it.”

  
“Then tell me what it is like, Maeve. The prick betrayed you, threw all the Walters stuff in your face, and what? That’s fine, you still care about him?”

  
Fighting with Harry was not on the priority list for this visit, but if he’s going to get angry and not think about his words, then here, with no witnesses, is the best place for it. It is not another Hermione situation where I have a school-full of people watching him throw the Walters in my face. Unfortunately for him, he is surrounded by paintings of the Walters, that if they hear whispers of this, are going to find a way to come and watch, and then hate him forever. 

  
“Does it have to be about Draco?”

  
“YES! I know it’s about Malfoy so don’t lie to me again Maeve. Why did you choose him to trust, when you barely trust any of us? Barely trust me?” His breathing is erratic as he shouts at me, the sounds reverberating around the library. 

  
My own anger is fighting for a chance to get out, but being in this environment, in the Walters house, is more likely to make my words all the more unforgivable. Maybe that is not a great excuse, but my precarious control has lots of easy ways to be shattered. So I stamp down on the instinct to argue back with more insults. I address the real issue in his words instead. 

  
“Why do you think I don’t trust you?” 

  
“All of this,” he says, gesturing wildly around us with his wand. “This place, Maeve. Everything about it is drenched in secrecy. From the books no one but you can read to that memory…” he trailed off, the anger in his green eyes dimming a little as he realised what he said. 

  
I force a laugh, though part of me wants to cry. “Because I didn’t show you the memory of my family’s slaughter, I don’t trust you? Right. I’m not having this discussion; let’s go back to school.”

  
This time, even when Harry says my name, I don’t bend on this. He understands that quickly enough, and steps through the green flames without another word. 

  
We land back in my quarters as I knew we would - it is much easier to be exact when going back to the castle, when the only fire I can come through is the one in my room, due to my adjustments of the wards. The only other grate we could theoretically come through is the one in Dumbledore’s office, which I take care for both of us to avoid. Ron’s waiting anxiously with my sister for our return, but when Harry instantly walked out of the room without a word, the happiness of our return quickly dims. 

  
“What the hell did I miss?” Ron asks as I dump the bag of books on the armchair. 

  
“Someone had feelings he wanted to express, badly,” I reply, taking my sister in my arms. 

  
“He finally told you then.”

  
“He kissed me, then asked me angrily why Draco holds me back from having a relationship.”

  
Ron swore lowly, and I nod. 

  
Go see him, it’s fine, I tell him, and allow myself to be distracted by my sister as Ron leaves the room, chasing after his best friend. My thoughts easily return to that book, and when Cassia and I head down to dinner, we join Hannah and Justin at the Hufflepuff table, chatting about anything that can bring a positive topic to light. Tonks’ duelling tournament, mostly. 

***

The only academic thing on the agenda for half-term was the sixth-year career meeting with heads of houses, and McGonagall was keen to talk to all her students as soon as possible. As Maeve Ellis, I get one of the first slots, though it isn’t exactly reassuring. Which was how I ended up in Professor McGonagall’s office on a Thursday evening, Cassia entrusted to the care of my year-mates in Gryffindor Tower. 

  
“Still looking at a Potions Mastery?” McGonagall asked with a flick of her notes from the last time we spoke on my career plans. I try not to laugh aloud - competing with Hermione or Draco for the spot as Snape’s student for a Mastery isn’t something I’m interested in anymore. Besides, voluntarily making myself student to Snape for another five years after Hogwarts sounds akin to torturing myself.

  
“Unlikely, at least, not straight after school.” 

  
I don’t mention that the reason for that is so I might travel and find a different Potions Master to teach me. 

  
“Auror’s your main plan, now, then?” McGonagall asked, a little of the hope dimming from her eyes. I quirked a brow up at it, and she smiled with a huff of laughter. 

  
The Professor was quiet for a minute, and a wistful look overcame her usual stern expression. I ignored the presence of the Marauders in her mind, realising the pains of the parallels for her.   
“Your mother was equally as stubborn when it came to making career plans, though more

for the reason of her limited choice for being a Walters. Are you worried for the same reason, Maeve?”

  
I shook my head, a lump forming in my throat. “Got no family to speak of to stop me.”

  
McGonagall didn’t respond. She rifled through her desk, bringing out a handful of pamphlets and leaflets, all containing different career paths. When I picked up the first one, an annoyed breath hissed through my teeth. I threw it back down, refusing to comment on it when McGonagall picked it up and read through it herself. 

  
Legilimency Professor. As if that even exists. Though, perhaps it doesn’t exist because they have no one skilled enough to teach it. Admittedly, teaching students to control their thoughts and hide the most private ones would be a good plan, however then the higher-level stuff like memory manipulation and locating people or items wouldn’t be deemed appropriate by parents, or the Ministry. The content would be so limited, and of course, would indicate quickly enough about my own Legilimency skills - announcing it to the world like that is not on my priority list. 

  
“Hogwarts hasn’t had someone to teach students to defend their minds since I was a student here, and Professor Dumbledore has been unwilling to hire someone who might be inappropriate for the position,” McGonagall said casually, eyeing me over the paper. 

  
“Not going to happen,” I said firmly. “Me being a Walters is a secret, remember?”

  
“You can be a Legilimens without being a Walters, Maeve,” McGonagall argues, and I shake my head. 

  
“It’s too risky, I’m not doing that.” Finality seeps into my tone, and McGonagall drops the leaflet, instead pushing the one about Auror training towards me. 

  
When I skim over it, there is nothing to suggest that I wouldn’t like the work – tracking down dark wizards and those who break the law, protecting the wizarding secret and working with international offices to assist in magical endeavours. It does put me very close to the Ministry, of course, but perhaps by the end of this war, or by the time I am training to be an Auror, keeping my own secret won’t matter so much. 

  
I don’t tell McGonagall this, though. 

  
“I know I want to be an Auror, Professor. What else is there for us to discuss?”

  
McGonagall sighed. “War does not last forever, Maeve. Are you sure you’re not making this decision based on the current state of the world?”

  
I bit my lip, running my fingers through the knots in my hair. 

  
“Professor, I know the war will not last, and I am as prepared as I can

be for that. But, I want to go in for Auror training as much for this War as for the sake of the Walters name, even if it just proves to myself that we’re not all uncontrollable selfish bastards.”  
McGonagall cracked a smile. “You truly are your mother’s girl. I don’t know how I never noticed it.”

  
“You weren’t looking – no one was,” I say simply, and I clench my fists by my sides, nails digging into my palms. Conversations about my family are fine – when I am prepared for them. This had come out of nowhere, and I don’t like it. 

  
McGonagall was silent for a while, but without her dismissal, I didn’t want to walk out of the room. I both like and respect my professor, and I wouldn’t want her to think otherwise. My eyes instead flitted nervously around the office, scanning the wards and the visible magic. The filing cabinet was well-protected and I would wage that’s where student records and exam papers are stored. 

  
“Maeve, whatever this plan is, you can share it with us, with the Order. It’s not your responsibility to win this war,” McGonagall said softly, and I was beginning to regret telling anyone I was working on an idea in the first place. 

  
So what if I have a streak of perfectionism? Maybe it’s more like fear, of not wanting to give false hope. 

  
“I know it’s not my responsibility, but I need to make sure it works before I give anyone a reason to put their faith in me,” I argue back for what feels like the millionth time. 

  
McGonagall leant back in her chair, eyeing me carefully. 

  
“How is the study group going Maeve? Even if you won’t take being a Legilimency Professor, perhaps you would consider a different subject?”

  
My body tensed, and I waited for the lecture, but it didn’t seem to come. The professor simply offered me a biscuit. I took one warily, still expecting some sort of backlash for so obviously ignoring at least four school rules. 

  
“I am no teacher,” I argue, but McGonagall disagrees. 

  
“Teaching younger students magic is teaching, Maeve; you can’t dispute that.”

  
I exhale slowly, and nod. “It might be teaching, but it’s not the same as being a professor. I teach them what they want to know, not a specific syllabus or anything else. I’m not sure I can be a professor. At least, not yet - not whilst the world is as it is.”

  
McGonagall sighed. “Okay Maeve. Well, I look forward to hearing about this plan of yours at the meeting.”

  
My eyebrow quirks involuntarily, and McGonagall eyes me carefully. “Dumbledore has organised a meeting of the whole Order here at the school. He will most likely expect some information from you at that point. Saturday morning, in two weeks.”

  
I bit my lip to stop myself swearing in front of the professor, and thanked her for mentioning it to me. She dismisses me not long after, and as I head back down to the quarters, I run all the insults through my mind. Figure out how to save the wizarding world, in detail, in two weeks. 

  
Easy, right?

***


	48. Sore Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: more language, some conflicts arise
> 
> So the eagle-eyed among you may notice that this work is now a part of a series! When we get closer to the end of this story, I'm going to lay out my ideas for what I can do next with these characters, so I hope you stick around for that!
> 
> Next chapter to be published Sunday 28th February 2021
> 
> Enjoy!

Mornings before a match were always busy ones – the Great Hall was at full capacity before the game, a rarity for Saturdays. People were overtly decked out in house colours on the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, and most of the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors were content to just wear their normal robes, and speculate from the sidelines. 

Which was exactly what was happening on the Gryffindor table. 

“I think Ravenclaw have something to prove – they are going to push to win this match, and hard,” Seamus speculated, eyeing the Ravenclaw team, who were huddled together at their table, a number of privacy charms surrounding them. 

“Yeah, but the Slytherins aren’t going to go down without a fight, and if they lose badly, then they’re going to be on warpath in our match against them,” Harry counters. A whisper of concern courses through my body. If Draco and I were still on this uneven, rocky patch by the time the highly-anticipated Gryffindor versus Slytherin match rolled around, then that could turn violent, especially considering the majority of that team were Slytherins who had attacked me, at least once. It was definitely not a situation to look forward to. 

But, I returned my attention to the match that was occurring today, and briefly wondered if Cassia would be willing to watch this one. I suspect it will be action-filled, so perhaps it might keep her interest?

We made our way out to the stands, and though the sun was shining, the February breeze was chilly, and I cast silent warming charms around us once we reached our usual spot. 

Each team was announced, and I did my best not to watch Draco too closely. He was as determined as ever, and most likely looking to lose himself in the match, thinking of nothing other than the game, and the snitch. 

The captains shook hands, and the whistle echoing throughout the stadium signalled the start of the game. I kept my eyes on the Beaters, and the positions were occupied by no one I knew, probably seventh-years. They weren’t necessarily good beaters, but they had raw strength, and an intimidation factor. 

But the Ravenclaw chasers were good. Ravenclaw had their first two goals within five minutes of the start of the match, and they didn’t look to be slowing down any time soon. Echoes of the Slytherin captain’s yells reached the stands, and it was nothing too friendly. 

Even with the yelling, it did nothing, and even when the Slytherin team had the Quaffle and reached the opposite end of the pitch, Avys and the other beater were there to knock them off-course, and the Keeper was playing excellently. They were a completely different team from when they last played, and so much improved compared with the match they played against us. 

The fight between the Beaters was not so much the precise routine it usually fell into, but more a brutal attempt from the Slytherin players to knock the Ravenclaws out of formation. But, every time, one of the Ravenclaw beaters was there to deflect it. 

“If only the Slytherin Beaters coordinated, then they could knock out that formation and give their Chasers a chance,” Seamus whispered to me, and I nodded. Between the two of us, we knew that in their position, there had been ample opportunities to break up that formation. The Slytherin Beaters, however, were chosen not for their tactics and awareness, but brute strength. And, therefore, they were missing opportunities left, right and centre. 

Draco dove for the snitch in an attempt to distract Chang from her own searching, and even the Ravenclaw Seeker was managing to surprise us all. A move like that was something most Seekers would fall for instantly, and not question, but Chang briefly dived after him, only to realise he was feinting. She pulled herself out of the dive with control and precision she hadn’t had during the match against Gryffindor. 

Harry was sorely impressed. 

The aggression of the Slytherin team only grew as they trailed further and further behind in the scoring. They managed a single goal in the time Ravenclaw got eleven. 

With the distraction of Chang speeding across the field for the snitch, the Slytherin Chasers were able to make the intercepts they needed to bring themselves vaguely back into the runnings. Draco was two seconds behind the Ravenclaw captain, and the chase pushed them both to the limits. Within the stadium, barely anyone noticed as the Slytherin team scored two more goals; the voice of the commentator seemed hushed as the anticipation of the chase grew. 

“AS THE SEEKERS REMAIN IN A FIGHT FOR THE SNITCH, THE AUDIENCE WATCHES WITH BATED BREATH – CHANG HAS AN EDGE OVER MALFOY, BUT MALFOY HAS THE BETTER BROOM! WILL RAVENCLAW HAVE A WIN THIS SEASON?”

Even Cassia’s attention was rapt with the match, a true rarity. Suddenly there was a victorious cry, and Chang’s broom shot upwards, her fist out above her head. 

“CAPTAIN CHO CHANG OF THE RAVENCLAW TEAM CATCHES THE SNITCH! RAVENCLAW WINS, TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY TO THIRTY AGAINST SLYTHERIN!”

The stadium erupted into cheering, and the blue stands emptied as they all rushed onto the pitch. Excitement fizzed in the air around them, barely punctuated with the disappointment and anger from the Slytherin team as they made their way off the pitch as quickly as they could. I watched them from the stands, heading for their changing room, and there was a lot of shouting and anger passing between them. Each player blamed a different one for a failure, but most of all, they blamed Draco for not beating Cho to the snitch. 

At that point, Harry pulled my attention away from staring at them, and we all headed inside, and back to the Common Room before lunch. 

  
***

  
After dinner, and the Ravenclaws had disappeared to their Tower for their house party, the tension was beginning to ease. The Slytherin team were pissed off – and that was putting it mildly. So, Cassia and I went back to Gryffindor Tower with the rest of our friends, hoping to avoid walking back to the dungeons at the same time. 

Tempers were already erratic, and my presence in the dungeon usually angered them. Today was not the day to tempt fate with that. 

With the exams looming, and the extra pressure from the professors to complete and hand in any extra projects (the minimum was two, but I was already working on five) was building. Hermione had seemingly completed her extra projects, and was making revision timetables for when we got into exams season. 

I have to admit, I was barely thinking of exams. I read books I’d borrows from the Walters library over half-term about Prophecies and wards, disguised in the Common Room as random research books for Charms. Secret books from an unknown library, more extensive than the one in Hogwarts, was not exactly my best way to stay a secret Pureblood masquerading as a Muggleborn student. 

Cassia was entertained easily enough, and with my permission, and assurance from the first years, she joined in with a game of exploding snap by the fire. Her inclusion by the first years was most likely due to the mini-DA/study group I ran, but nonetheless is was nice to see her joining in, and socialising with people who are at least a little bit closer to her age. 

We stayed a lot later than I had intended, and it was almost curfew when Seamus reminded me that the Slytherins were likely to still be in a shit mood. I swore lowly, and stuffed my book back into my bag, hoping to find Cassia willing to leave without fuss. 

“Do you want us to walk down with you?” Harry offered, and I smiled, but shook my head. 

“Then you’ve got to all come back, and risk running into them. It’s okay, I can handle a bunch of teenagers,” I add with a cocky grin, and Ron rolls his eyes, finally turning to his Potions assignment. 

Unfortunately, Cassia did not want to leave. Spending a decent amount of time in the Common Room was not what I had planned, but it had just happened. Without even trying. But, she was right in front of the fire, and I could see behind all her obstinance, she was exhausted, and would likely fall asleep soon. So I relented for a little while, until she slipped into dreamland. Falling asleep in a loud common room was difficult, but those in the exam years were starting to insist on a lower volume for their studying. 

The fact that almost none of them use silencing charms around themselves genuinely stuns me, but I guess if people are practising magic, then perhaps holding up the charms isn’t the easiest thing, nor the best for practice. 

I left the Common Room quietly, trying to avoid catching the attention of any of the younger years that I tutor. I need to be getting back sooner rather than later, but I never have the heart to push them away. Not when I’ve spent so long trying to build their trust. 

Cassia was wide awake by the time we reached the dungeon, conveniently for her managing to avoid all the stairs. Sometimes I think she’s smarter than she lets on to me, and her always seeming to wake up in time to run down the dungeon corridor is becoming more than slightly suspicious. But it’s a suspicion I can indulge, because I don’t mind carrying her, nor do I mind her running around before she needs to go to bed. 

As always, I have her shield up as a precaution, which seems particularly relevant today. Something in the general aura surrounding the Slytherin table at dinner was more than just being sore losers; it was like that feeling contributed to something more, and fed into a deeper anger. I hoped they wouldn’t try anything, because dealing with them in the same way I had to last time was exhausting, and this time, it’s not the first years on the line, it’s my sister. 

I clearly thought that too soon, as when I round the corner, a flash of red light bounces off Cassia’s shield, and she screams. 

A group of students, all the Slytherins I expected it to be, are gathered together in long black robes and pathetic notice-me-not charms are cast across their faces. I assume the idea of that would be so I couldn’t identify them, but with their minds all so different, and very active in the current moment, it’s easy to know who is who. 

The one that startles me is Draco; his presence is less visible at first, but when I step closer, and see the hem of a robe that doesn’t line up with any of them on the front line, I know he’s both there, and trying to hide from me. 

_Cassia, get behind me, now._ I don’t have time for niceties as I let my wand slip into my hand, ready to face them for trying to stun my sister. Parkinson is there too, and her own fear rolls off her as she recognises the situation they have put themselves in – and this time there are no professors to stop me. 

I think they all realise I am more than capable of taking them down, when one of the hooded figures steps forward, and I recognise that sick mind to be Theodore Nott. 

“You are not going to get away with this, not this time,” he all but growled at me, and I raised my eyebrows. This is the third time they’ve put me in this situation, and the previous times, I’ve come out on top. At least they don’t all have self-esteem problems, I guess. 

“And how exactly are you going to stop me?” I ask, and the first stunner flies at me, absorbed easily by my shield. 

Something darker is thrown at me, a blinding black light, and that too is absorbed. I feel the wards around me groan as I try to stop the alert going to the professors. It works, just about, but anything more and I doubt I’ll be able to stop it. Especially if I have to make more effort to defend my sister. 

“You might be powerful, but you can’t beat all of us,” Crabbe hissed, casting another dark curse at me. I swear, and then the tendrils of Legilimency magic start flowing out from me, ready to attack when necessary. I learnt a lot about offensive Legilimency from a few brief hours at Walters Manor, and perhaps it’s more than I really need to know. But, admittedly, it might come in handy, especially in situations like this. 

“And why would that be?” I ask, casting a wordless curse back at him, that he is too slow to shield against, and then he’s on the floor, screaming in mental agony. Mixing Legilimency and curses was apparently something my family created a few generations back, and I’m not ashamed to use it when he would so quickly choose to curse my sister. 

Parkinson drops to her knees by the writhing boy, looking at him for any signs of physical damage. But there are none, and his screaming is starting to attract attention. Cassia’s crying behind me, and I do my best to comfort her, but my priority first has to be her safety, rather than her feelings. 

My emotions ebb and flow out of me, leaving me as a Walters shell, just a well of power concealed inside a human body. The Legilimency is my first thing to turn to, an obvious way out of this situation, and out of this school. But, at least, then, Cassia will be okay, and we can find a way of utilising my skills from Walters Manor rather than having it all hidden within the school, where the impact radius is so much higher. 

Sending the tendrils spiralling into their minds is easy to do undetected, when none of them are looking for a mental attack. Not many wizards would recognise all the subtle signs, admittedly, especially not in the middle of the confrontation. Perhaps some would notice if they had their own experience with Legilimency, but there would be few who would look for it on a large and offensive scale. And even fewer after that who might connect this to the Walters, when it is common knowledge that the family were slaughtered. Draco is the first to notice the presence, and he fights at it, but his Legilimency was never strong enough to break my own, not when I was actually trying. Even after how much I helped him to build his shields and control it, there is just an inability to match the skill of a Natural Legilimens, leading directly back to the fear factor of the Walters. 

_Maeve, you are going to expose yourself_ , Draco hisses mentally at me, and all the concern I can read from that statement is mirrored in his aura, as he looks down at the obvious mental pain his friend is in. 

_They will figure it out_ , Draco repeats forcefully into my mind, his worry mixing with fear at his own exposure of being at least partially on my side. _They aren’t as stupid as they used to be, and that Legilimency you are using is NOT helping this situation._

Three professors round the corner, and I cut out the curse on Crabbe, and his writhing instantly stops, replaced by unbridled fury. He stands, and casts a wordless black spell at me, the darkness barrelling straight towards me. My shield is in place and ready to absorb the blow, but the curse is stopped before it reaches the shield. Albus Dumbledore has his wand raised, and a very grave expression on his face. McGonagall and Snape flank him on either side, and none of them look too happy. Even with a shield still up, I’m hesitant to draw back the Legilimency protecting me. I’ve blanked their minds against remembering curses to hurt either of us, and the second I let them have those thoughts back, I’m liable to a pretty severe attack, particularly since Goyle wants to use a Cruciatus Curse on me.

 _Maeve, for fucks’ sake, stop. Do you actually want them to figure out you’re a Walters?_ Draco snaps at me, though his aura is tinged with concern. I reel the magic back in, and pick Cassia up into my arms. She’s crying, though trying to be quiet about it, and I try my best to comfort her. All my emotions flood back into place, and I pour as much love and care as I dare into her mind, trying to replicate the feeling of safety, even in this corridor where so much dark magic has been used. I don’t stop and consider that my mind allowed Draco to talk mentally without me really wanting to. Perhaps it is a consequence of all the mental talking we have done, that he has an easy doorway. But, even with that, he should not be able to talk to me without my intentions aligning. 

Dumbledore leads us all into an empty classroom, and the divide between the Slytherins and myself is obvious as they take one side of the classroom, and I remain firmly on the other. This house divide is becoming more and more difficult to fight, especially when things like this keep happening. 

“I understand tensions have been high today for you,” he starts, turning to the Slytherins. “However, cursing a fellow student with enough dark magic to set off the wards is truly unacceptable.” Because of course Quidditch was an excuse for Dark Magic, and I hadn’t even played in the match. 

Crabbe made an indignant sound. “The bitch cursed me as well,” he snapped, eyes zeroing in on me, with Cassia cradled in my arms. Slapping an innocent expression on my face made me anything but threatening, but unfortunately, all these professors knew far too much about me to be fooled by that. Snape sent a look at Crabbe, a silent reprimand for the language, but Crabbe ignored it. The truth of the boy’s mind was that all he wanted was to leave school and become a full-time Death Eater. And for that reason, he barely respected Snape’s authority anymore. Not for any suspicion of his loyalty, but for the sole reason that he felt Snape should be doing more evil, rather than teaching potions. 

Being inside Crabbe’s mind was an eye-opening experience, and was perhaps one of the most horrible minds I’ve ever encountered. 

“Is this true, Miss Ellis?” Dumbledore asked calmly, and I nodded. 

“They threaten my sister’s life, Professor. I didn’t have many options, and I was unsure if any professors would come in time. Also, I didn’t want to be a victim of an Unforgiveable.” I shoot a glare at the Slytherins, and Goyle shrinks back a little. Draco catches his friend’s motion, and sends a glare my way. 

Right. Legilimency exposure, because now you care, I snap into his mind, and his eyes turn stormy. 

McGonagall’s eyes widen. “Do you have any evidence to back that claim up, Miss Ellis?”

I shake my head, but I knew I could pull up the memory in Goyle’s mind if I hadn’t still be trying to hide my Legilimency. “Only speculation but judging on the other magic they were using against me, I didn’t think the possibility unreasonable. Check their wands, see what they used.”

Catching the pleading look a couple of the Slytherins sent to Snape, I had a moment of being impressed at how much they trust him to be on his side, when his mind would so clearly indicate that he is not on board with any of this. Any of their attacks on me. 

“No matter the circumstance, Headmaster, Miss Ellis should not have resorted to Dark Magic,” Snape said coolly, and Dumbledore nodded his agreement. I try not to make any changes to my expression, but the indignant sound welling up in my throat are difficult to subdue. What a hypocrite. 

“All involved students will receive detentions with their respective house leaders,” Dumbledore decided, and the disappointment visible on Snape’s face was somewhat comical. I couldn’t predict how McGonagall would react to this, and how far she would deem it all to be my fault. 

I was hoping not too badly, and since the balance of students on both sides was so uneven, I doubt even Snape could argue effectively that it was all my fault without bringing the Walters into it. Which, of course, he couldn’t do. 

“I suggest now you all return to you Common Rooms, and Professors McGonagall and Snape will speak with you in the morning.” Dumbledore’s voice dripped with finality. And I fled the room instantly, Cassia rocking in my arms, and perhaps one of the strongest shields I could cast moving at my back. 

Of everything that has happened tonight, the surprise has been Draco. My first shock was when he was within the group of attackers, and the second when he couldn’t hide his concern from my mind about me exposing myself as a Walters. With our previous arguments, and his unaccepted attempts at apologies, I would have guessed he wouldn’t care. Perhaps he just didn’t want his friends under the control of my Legilimency. But, faking his own emotions in the depths of his mind is Legilimency beyond Draco’s abilities - it is something not even all Natural Legilimens master in their lifetimes. 

My only conclusion, therefore, is that Draco might actually care that my identity stays a secret. And that brings up more emotional problems than I can cope with this evening. 

_You are actually insane, Maeve Walters_ , I tell myself, and when I’m back in my quarters, I put Cassia to bed, promising to stay with her until she falls asleep. Tonight is going to be an uneasy night, and I sit in the chair on the opposite side of her room, and flick on the magical mobile. My own sleeping tonight is unlikely, and I’m glad there are no classes to have to force myself through for tomorrow. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Caity B xx


	49. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: none really
> 
> Next chapter on Thursday 4th March 2021
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

Tonks’ duelling tournament had turned into an exercise of my restraint, and I think she was starting to notice that too. I also think she liked that. Holding myself back to try and see normal was perhaps a relief to the professor, as in the back of her mind was the suspicion I would be able to beat her in any duelling challenge either of us could set forward. She was right, of course, but half my magic reveals me as a Walters, and the other half is too much to use, without giving questions to my muggleborn persona I have created. 

Supplementing magic was an archaic pureblood thing, and there were many ways to do it, most of them illegal. But the Walters had always been good at avoiding the long arms of the law, hidden away in the Manor and intervening with the real world only when absolutely necessary. Meaning, much alike wizarding families that are considered to be dark - Lestranges, Blacks, Malfoys - we only have the reputation for being terrifying and closed-off Natural Legilimens. 

I had yet to lose a duel in this class, other than that first one against Hannah because of Nott’s fake Killing Curse. There were four of us on that same level - myself, Harry, Hermione and Draco. So today’s lesson turned into Tonks’ lazy teaching, where she wanted the rest of the class to learn from their peers. 

And I, of course, managed to get myself paired against Draco. But first Harry and Hermione duelled, so I didn’t let myself dwell on the future too much as I scanned for their weaknesses and strengths. With a brief reminder to both of them to keep it to magic we were supposed to know, not have been taught by Snape, I left their minds alone, and turned my attention away from them. How I was going to control my magic during a duel with Draco, with all the emotions that were conflicted inside me, was beyond my Ellis self, and I knew would require a pretty high degree of Walters stoicism. 

Which wasn’t my top priority for things to show the whole class. But better it be that than losing control of my magic and potentially hurting someone. Badly. 

From the current duel, Tonks was using moments during which one of them had landed a spell as teaching devices, and expected the rest of the class to be actually paying attention, since she was threatening to randomly throw spells at people if she thought they weren’t on their guard. I had a shield around me, just in case. Since all of the DA knew I could hold my shields well, there was no real risk of it. 

However, when I didn’t even notice the jinx bouncing off the shield, and it took Hannah beside me setting off a small flare to grab my attention, that I realised it might have been a mistake to zone out completely. Tonks, as usual, did not make a big deal out of it, which was useful, but there was a new undercurrent of concern in her mind which I didn’t want to see. She simply moved on, but kept her focus on me, trying to get me to actually engage in a class. In defence, I didn’t do that often, but not due to disrespect or anything. It was better to zone out completely rather than accidentally showing myself to be too powerful. 

“Ellis, what would you say one of the mistakes was that Potter made?” she asks, and I meet Harry’s eyes with a grin. 

“He’s predictable in what he casts,” I supply, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“Good, Ellis. Potter, she is correct - you fall back on expelliarmus a lot, which could be potentially exploited by an opponent,” Tonks said. She goes on to explain to the class the drawbacks of falling into regular patterns, and also how to use someone’s casting patterns against them. 

Harry was forcing the air that he didn’t mind all the criticism, and I noted the way his fingers curled tightly around his wand, trying not to stress about it. About his weaknesses. 

_Hey, it’s okay, we can work on it_ , I tell him mentally, and try and project a little calm into his chaotic mind. He manages a smile at me, and his grip relaxes. Before he can respond, Tonks calls me and Draco up to the empty space in the classroom for duels, and Harry flashed me a confident mental smile. 

Draco and I took positions opposite each other on the floor, and Tonks, thankfully, put up her own shields around us, knowing the risk of haywire spells to be quite high, when the whole room could sense the tension between Draco and myself, even without the use of any magic. We bowed stiffly, barely taking our eyes off each other, much akin to that duel Harry and Draco had during our second year. Draco had to know he was at an advantage compared to me - his full strength could be used without question, whereas mine was very much dampened. 

A real fight between Draco and myself right now would likely end very differently, and much more quickly. If I actually unleashed myself fully. 

His first move was a stunner, and I absorbed it with a shield, throwing back a wordless hex. I was banking on the fact that they all knew I could do wordless magic too. The DA did, and I guessed that none of the Slytherins in the class would be too surprised, given their past offensive experiences involving me and my magic. But, as I cast spell after spell, I kept reminding myself to move my wand, to make it even vaguely convincing that during this fight I wasn’t practically holding half my power hostage under mental lock and key. 

Neither of us slipped up for a long time. But Draco was getting tired, and I mentally checked with Harry how his magic levels were looking. Harry’s magical sight was different to anything I could do, and therefore I felt no shame in asking him for help. Harry smiled wryly at the intrusion, but gave up the information once I explained it was to try and make this look like a fair match. 

It wasn’t a fair match though, and whilst my mind was half-distracted with Harry, Draco managed to get a spell past my shield, though the counter-jinx to the tantallegra was easy enough, and I cast it wordlessly the instant I felt the spell hit me. 

The fact that he had hit me with a spell, and I’d been holding back allowed me the excuse I needed to hit him with something. I purposefully chose a non-harmful spell, a Leg Locker hex. It landed exactly where I intended it to, as I had tampered with his shield to create an unknown chink. One that wouldn’t be there ordinarily, but in the heat of the moment, Draco couldn’t know that. 

He managed a counter-spell, only dropping his shield for a second too long and I sent him flying backwards, allowing him the chance to catch himself with an arresto momentum. It worked, and when he scrambled to his feet, I allowed myself to smirk at him. 

_You could at least be a little grateful_ , Draco hissed into my mind as he sent a stunner at me in retaliation. 

_What, and let you win? Not a single bloody chance_ , I laughed back, and my voice put him off-track. Maybe he did not intend for me to hear him, but I use that little chance to send my own version of the bluebell flames at him, and distract him as I increased my own defences, readying for the final attack to take him down. 

_For fuck sake, Maeve. Get out of my head_ , he growled, and vanished the flames with a single wave of his wand. I tried to recall if I had used those flames against him before, but came up blank. Perhaps that was in a duel with someone else. Or maybe Draco’s getting good at predicting my moves. 

_No, I think I like distracting you like this,_ I say back, my mental voice taking on a sing-song lilt. An annoying Walters confidence. _And, of course, you can’t prove anything otherwise._

 _Are we still on this?_ He asked, mentally gritting his teeth, and the spells between us were getting progressively more dark and more violent. His shield almost completely shattered against my bombarda maxima, and he was doing his damn best to neutralise anything he thought I could have put around him. He spotted the mirror charm I’d placed above his head, and I winked at him across the classroom. 

_Maeve, Salazar damnit, I’m not going to do anything. Did I not prove that to you after the match?_

Around us, Tonks is getting a little nervous. What we are throwing would cause some real damage if any of the spells actually landed, but, thankfully, neither of us are inclined to move onto dark magic. The full extent of Draco’s knowledge of the Dark magic must come from his family history, in the same way a lot of my dark magic comes from being a Walters. I suspect that the second Tonks loses faith that neither of us are going to curse the other is the second she will step in. Or, try to, at least. 

_All you proved to me is that you were willing to attack my sister_ , I growled back, a particularly nasty hex flying towards Draco that I don’t remember trying to cast. Shit. 

This is not the room to lose control in. Especially not with all the potential for collateral damage. Tonks’ shield might not stop me, honestly. In fact, if I truly lost control, I don’t know what would stop me. 

Draco’s magic faltered, and I take the chance to send out a more powerful stunner than I should have done but everyone in the room around us could have seen Draco’s shield flicker. So, when the stunner finds its mark, and Tonks takes down her shield, protecting the rest of the class, no one has any awkward questions for me regarding power. Or at least, no one that shouldn’t have those questions does. Of course Harry, Ron and Hermione do. There’s no surprise there. And Seamus and Dean, on the other side of the classroom are both trying to repress the desire to ask too. 

Tonks ennervates Draco, who when he comes around, glares at me. The language in his mind is colourful at best, and at worst, is borderline horrific. I’m not sure whether or not to respond to it, but when he catches my eyes at I turn around, there is no doubt in his expression that I heard exactly what he just thought. 

My throat clams up, and I try and ignore it. Draco’s insults shouldn’t mean anything, but under everything, it still cuts deep. Still hits me in a way I don’t want it to. Harry puts an arm around me as he connects the guilty-looking Draco to my sudden spiking of magic. The emotion rising up in me that correlates directly to how close I am to losing control. Now, I think I am fine, but as usual, a sharp exit under the pretence of looking after my sister isn’t a problem. And Tonks would know better than to try and stop me. She hasn’t yet seen me lose my temper completely, but by now I think the Order knows enough about me to be afraid, even if none of them will admit it aloud. 

Casual wandless magic, in a manner that makes it look as if I’m barely trying, is a dead giveaway, and something that terrifies wizards all over the country. Even those wizards who are doing their best to protect it. Being a Walters, I am an unlikely ally to begin with, and I have done my best to be careful, and do anything I can to prove to them I don’t use my Legilimency on them. Aligning myself with the losing side of an argument, and always checking to make sure people have said things out loud before I respond. 

I wonder what it would be like to not have to measure your actions so precisely, not have to predetermine how you need to act in order for people to trust you. Though they say they trust me, I’m sceptical, especially when the truth rings out clearly in their minds, and their emotional auras. 

I bring myself out of that pit of despair, and work on regulating my magic, as Tonks talks through the high and low points of Draco and my performance during the duel. I’m pronounced winner, meaning at some point, Harry and I will have to duel for the class. When Harry nudges my shoulder with a grin at that revelation, I let myself smile, and raise my eyebrows in challenge. 

_Good thing you know my strengths_ , I whisper mentally, and Harry chokes on a laugh. 

_Yeah, Maeve. Everything is your strength_ , he replied, and I try not to agree with him too quickly. 

_Well, most of my strengths I can’t show the class, so don’t give up just yet_ , I remind him, and he smiles at me. 

A flash of jealous enters Draco’s mind across the classroom, and I turn to see him watching me and Harry curiously. I am guessing he can assume the place of the silent conversation, knowing that Harry isn’t the best when it comes to regulating his facial expressions with Mindspeaking. 

_None of your fucking business_ , I snap at him, as his mind reaches out of its own accord, asking what is going on between myself and Harry. Draco blanches at my harsh tone, and I create a wall between us, so his own mind can’t penetrate into my own. The little sympathy I allowed my own mind, since the fight in the corridors, is gone.

When the class ends for lunch, Tonks keeps me and Draco behind. I unlock the wards slightly to let Harry into my quarters when he offers to take Cassia to lunch. In case of delay here, which judging by Tonks’ expression, is probably quite likely. 

“You two are very skilled wizards, but you both took that too far,” she started, getting straight to the point. “I don’t care what the history is, or who broke up with who, or whatever. But what I do care about is how much you two were trying to seriously injure the other.”

“No one was going to get hurt,” I protest, and Draco echoes the same sentiment. 

“Maybe, maybe not. Everyone slips up, even you, Maeve,” Tonks adds, side-eyeing me. 

“That is not what I was going to say,” I try and argue back. “I wouldn’t let any of the worse spells actually hit him,” I defend, then bite my tongue, hard. Shit. 

Draco raises his eyebrow, and the curiosity is mimicked by the professor. I sigh, and run a hand through my hair. 

“You both know who I am. You actually think I would have let an explosive spell land on him?” 

Tonks shrugs, and Draco has yet to respond. His mind is trying to place his information in all of the messages I’ve been sending him, and see if this is a mark for or against us. It should be a mark for us, as I clearly haven’t yet given fully into the Walters side of me that would do absolutely anything to protect Cassia, no matter the consequences. 

Shit, am I getting soft?

“Well, Maeve, next time if you could keep your overt violence to practising outside of lessons, that would be appreciated,” Tonks said, and dismissed us both for lunch. But before we got far down the corridor, Draco was grabbing my arm and pushing me against a wall. 

“What the actual fuck was that?” he growled, and I pushed him off me with a physical violence I didn’t mean to use. 

I shake my head. “If you think I’m trying to kill you in lessons, then you must be crazy.”

“Doesn’t mean you make me look weak in front of Professor Tonks,” he shot back, and I sighed. “Just because you have nothing to prove to anyone, doesn’t mean I want my achievements negated by a W- by you.”

At his almost slip-up, I nearly wrapped all my Legilimency magic around his mind. The corridor was empty, yes, but with everything still so close to the surface, it was quick to be ready to throw it all into an attack. 

“Fine. If there’s a next time, I’ll let you disarm me. Does that make it better?” I ask, my voice dripping with anger. Something flared in his eyes, but it was gone too quickly for me to latch onto it.

“I’m not asking you to do that,” he snapped. 

“Then what are you asking me to do?”

Draco ran a hand agitatedly through his hair, scowling and cursing under his breath. “Look, Maeve, you made your choice, and I don’t need the constant reminder of what I fucked up, alright?”

My heart clenched involuntarily, and I I stamped down the unwanted emotion. It was a little too much to try and deal with, and when I walked over to Draco, he backed away. He reached the stone wall, back pressed against it, and I hold up my hand to the side of his face, hovering inches away from touching him. I let a thread of golden Legilimency flow from my hand dancing around in the space between us. 

“I could take it all away,” I murmur, and Draco, mesmerised by the visual representation of my Legilimency not often seen, just about managed to shake his head. “I thought you didn’t want the reminder?”

I kept the reign on the magic tight, not letting it get too close to Draco, but when his own mind reached out towards it, I had to draw it back. 

“I don’t want to live a lie, Maeve,” he snapped as I drew the magic away, and I tilted my head. This anger comes out of nowhere, but it doesn’t quite reach into his aura, at least, not fully. It’s superficial, a defencive mechanism to hide what is underneath it. A subconscious decision. I push past it, looking at what is hidden behind the haze of concocted fury.

Suddenly, against my logical will, I felt my core tense, and a spasm of desire flicked through. When I saw the same reflected in Draco’s own aura, and more obviously in his person, it took every inch of my self control not to leap across the corridor and kiss him. 

Unwisely, I let the thought play out, letting myself imagine what it would be like to drag him into a classroom and fuck like horny teenagers, rather than this game of lies and deception we’re playing. I let myself wonder how desperate Draco was for the same thing I wanted, and how far we would both go to let that happen. I let myself consider him inside me, stilling to try and control his release. Thoughts of a similar type are playing on Draco’s own mind, and I dig my nails into my palms, trying to rationalise all the reasons why that would be a bad idea. Why I can’t lead him on when I still can’t trust him. So, instead of dragging him away for ravishing sex, I put on an almost indifferent mask. I glance at him, really looking into his aura, and it is taking a lot of his control not to touch himself. 

When Draco noted my knowing smirk, he flushed, embarrassed, and went to walk away. His mind was angry, but not at me, not anymore. He was angry I could still get this reaction out of him, that after everything, he still cared about me. 

_Draco_ , I called out through my mind, and he froze in the corridor, slowly turning back to me. I realised it was the first time I’d used his first name since the argument, and my throat closed up. 

“I’m sorry if I made you look bad in front of Tonks, and for invading your mind,” I said, keeping my voice as neutral as I could manage. 

“It’s okay, Maeve. You don’t trust me, and I know that, but I’m just trying to figure out where we stand. You talk to me like that, and within the same conversation, you’re gone again.” 

I didn’t know where we stood either. If the plan I was creating came to pass, and soon, then maybe I would have cause to forgive him, but I doubted it. It is all too much, and that fight in the corridors after the match is yet another thing I’m not sure if I can forgive. He was there, when someone tried to hurt Cassia, and he let it happen. 

When I don’t reply, Draco sighs, and walks away. This time, I let him, and have to slap a hand over my mouth to stop the cry that emerges. Both of the last times we spoke, I had been in control of the situation, knowing that if I wanted to, Draco would come back to me. But, now he’s the one walking away, and it rips a new hole in my chest. Cassia’s presence edges into my mind, and I force a happy projection to her. I pretend that my heart isn’t shattering, and I pretend that I didn’t let myself keep up this pretence in my mind that Draco would always be mine, no matter what. That my choices were the only ones holding us apart. The choices I made for my sister. 

She is the reason for all this, and I nearly forgot that. 

I can’t bring myself to make an appearance at lunch. Not when I would spend the time bringing everything down. So, instead, with the accelerated timeline laid out by Dumbledore weighing down on me, I head back to my Common Room, preparing to spend my time delving into the Walters magic, and the possibility of breaking the prophecy. Disappearing back to Walters Manor was something I needed to do - the crucial half of the information about breaking a prophecy was apparently housed in a different book - one that must have escaped the spell. Which is mildly concerning, because if it doesn’t exist, then this is going to make the plan a whole lot more difficult. 

Not impossible, I don’t think. Just more and more pressure on Harry, and less I can actually do about that, without risking getting someone else hurt. Or, without potentially attracting attention to myself if I have to experiment with methods that the Walters have potentially used in the past to break prophecies. And that would most definitely be the wrong kind of attention - attention from the Department of Mysteries, which according to Kingsley’s intel is one of the most corrupted places within the Ministry. 

I just hope I can find that book. 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the next few chapters, at some point, I'm going to give a list of what I'm doing next with the Walters Universe, so keep an eye out for that!
> 
> -Caity B xx


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